


The Ties That Bind Us

by Tia_Pixie



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Mentions of Frerin, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-24 00:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tia_Pixie/pseuds/Tia_Pixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of unrelated one-shots throughout Fili & Kili's upbringing (yes, I've jumped on THAT bandwagon).  Will obviously mostly centre around Thorin, Dis, Fili and Kili but others will make appearances (probably).  </p><p>Will likely contain ALL the feels at some point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Training - Dis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dis' POV

I watched my brother work for few moments before speaking – he knew I was there, as always.  “Thorin, they are just children,” I sighed, “you asked too much of them.”

“They are Durin’s line,” my brother replied firmly, barely looking up from his work.

“No,” I said loudly, exasperated by how my brother, for all his superior years and all his wisdom could be so very…dim-witted.  Why could he not see what was so clear to me?  “No.  They are _our_ line – _your_ line.”

“It is the same thing!”

“No, it’s not!” 

He growled, throwing down his tools with a loud clang and turning to me.  Clearly, my brother thought to frighten me with his huffing and puffing, well, I had had a lifetime of his foul moods; they neither impressed nor intimidated me anymore.  I stood firm, crossing my arms.  We glared at one another for the longest while until I began to think he would explode from holding his tongue to keep from saying something he would regret.  Finally, he released a harsh breath and spoke again, in a carefully even – _reasonable_ – tone.

“They have to learn, Sister.  Your eldest is almost – ”

“ _My eldest_?” I demanded, outraged.  That he should stand there and refuse my son – his heir – even so slight a sign of acknowledgment as his _name_ incensed me.   I grabbed the nearest object that I could throw at him and took aim.

“Have a care!” he warned loudly, stepping away slightly.  “Have a care – this is a forge!  It is dangerous enough, woman!”

Woman _? Woman?_ Of all the – !  I launched my missile, missing by a fraction and taking up my next object.  I did not go through the agony of birthing my brother’s heirs that I might be ‘ _woman-ed’_ by him!  “ _Woman_?!” I repeated incredulously, taking aim once more.  “And ‘ _my eldest’_?!”

“FILI!” He roared, looking warily at the heavy tongs I held in my hand.  I paused, lowering my arm slightly before relenting and placing it down.  He sighed and continued, “ _Fili_ is almost nine years old and he can barely lift his hammer, much less make his target.  And as for his brother, he has – ”

“Because it is far too heavy for him!  And Kili has plenty of time – they _both_ do!” I ignored his sigh, throwing his hands up in frustration that I would not see his side.  Why could _he_ not see that my children – his nephews – wanted so desperately to please him but they were not yet old enough or big enough for the things he expected of them?  It was all so beastly unfair – cruel – of him to expect from my boys what was not expected of him and our brother.   “Frerin was not made to take up his first weapon until the age of ten!”

“Yes!  And Frerin is _dead_!  Is that what you want for your boys?”

A horrified silence descended between us, even Dwalin at his anvil at the back of the forge stopped his hammering.  Despite the heat, my brother’s face paled as I suspected my own had.  We spoke of Frerin, of course, we did, we had to so that my sons might know they would have had two uncles if not for the evils of the world.  We did not speak of his death.  Not even when the memory of it from half a century ago woke my elder brother up screaming out his name.  Thorin turned away from me, shoulders heaving, clearly as shocked as I was at his outburst.  Eventually, Dwalin took up his hammering again.  Still my brother did not turn.  I didn’t know what to say.  Frerin’s death had ever been a topic of silent contemplation for us, not something to be hurled at one another in the heat of an argument. 

“They have to learn,” my brother repeated quietly, his back to me.  “As I did.”

The steely sorrow in his voice gave me pause.  I was furious and beyond hurt, certainly, but something in the way his shoulders slumped spoke to me of a deeper reasoning.  I had not the time to speak with him for I needed to get home to my little ones – I had been informed of the disastrous training session and the criticism from my brother that my boys had endured and been so incensed that I had come here immediately.  My ire only receded when I came upon him and saw his face.  Although carefully masked in his usual self-righteousness and clearly still severely agitated by the day’s events, I knew my elder brother of old and I knew how his guilt seemed non-existent but for the minimal tightening of his jaw and flinching as he heard his offences laid bare.   

“I…I have to go,” I told him quietly, “I will speak with them about today but I have told you my thoughts on the matter.  They will not change.”

As I turned to leave, I heard him sigh heavily before taking up his tools again and returning to work.

* * *

 

I opened the door to my boys’ room knowing they would be there, no doubt banished to it by my brother several hours earlier.  They looked up as I entered, dashing tears from their cheeks and sliding off the bed to come to me.  I thought very darkly of my brother as I embraced them, lifting Kili into my arms and walking back to the bed.  For a little while none of us spoke, Kili sitting wide-eyed on the pillows watching as I rubbed soothing ointment over his brother’s aching shoulders. 

“Is Uncle very angwy?” my youngest murmured, dark eyes serious. 

“No,” I assured him wearily, “Uncle is not angry.”

“Is he disappointed?”  Fili asked, raising his eyes to mine.

I sighed and leant back, drawing his hands into mine.  “Uncle is…troubled, but he was wrong to upset you as he did.”

“Uncle did not upset me, Mama, I was upset because…” he stopped, lower lip quivering.  I reached out, raising his chin to look into his watery eyes.

“What upset you, my son?”

“I cannot lift it, Mama, not properly.”  The shame in my son’s voice made me want to hurl every tool in my brother’s workshop at their supercilious master.

“I know,” I whispered, wiping away his tears.  “But you will, one day.”

“Uncle wants it now.”

“Then Uncle will have to wait, until you are bigger.”

Fili sniffled, gazing unhappily at me.  “You do promise I will get bigger?”

“Of course,” I laughed, brushing the wild locks away from his face, “why ever would you not?”

Fili shrugged, looking away embarrassed.  He was admittedly going through a short phase; all his friends suddenly seemed so much taller and broader than he, I wondered if it might be the reason for my brother’s sudden insistence that he move up a grade in weaponry.

“Will I get bigger?”  came a small voice to my left. 

“Course you will,” replied Fili easily, before I could answer. 

“As big as Fili?”  Kili asked me suspiciously, unsure as to whether his brother was lying to him.

“Maybe.”

“As big as Uncle Thowin?”

“No!” Fili giggled, as if his brother had said something absolutely ridiculous.

I leant over and pushed some of Kili’s dark hair behind his ears – I really ought to braid it more but it only falls out five minutes later.  “Well,” I said smiling at him, “why not?”

Fili giggled again and wiped away the last of his tears, “Kili will _never_ be as big as Thorin, Mama, he’s too little!”

“But you just said I’d grow!”

“Not _that_ much – Mama tell him!”

“You will _both_ grow as to be as big and as strong as your Uncle if,” I raised my brows at them, “ _if_ you eat your vegetables.”

“Even the – ?”

“Even the green ones, yes, Kili.”  My youngest pouted thoughtfully, seemingly trying to weigh up whether it was worth it.  “Now,” I said, reaching to tickle them both lightly, “your Uncle will be home soon and I will not have you go to bed looking like little goblin boys so to the bathing chamber, both of you!”  If nothing else, the warm water would soothe my eldest son’s sore muscles.  My brother’s stupidity quite astounded me – not only had he succeeded in shaming my poor child, he had injured him with his insistence that he keep trying when he so clearly couldn’t manage what was being asked of him.  He would not have treated our brother in such a way, I’m certain. 

Despite their disastrous training session (if one could call it that) and although my elder son’s eyes still filled off and on, they both chattered quite happily while they bathed.  I did perhaps allow them to splash both me and each other more than usual.  As I was lifting Kili from the tub, we heard heavy footsteps pass the door heading to my brother’s rooms.  We all froze though I must confess it took all my self-control not to charge after him and berate him once again.  There was time for that later, when the boys were in bed and could not hear if he chose to say such hurtful things again. 

“Mama?”

I turned back to my youngest, his plump little face suddenly full of worry again.  “What is it, my dear one?”  Alarmed, I drew him to me as he burst into tears.  I looked to Fili for explanation but he shook his head, unwilling to betray his little brother’s confidences.  “Kili?”

My son took several shuddery breaths, pushing back from me and gazing at me with his dark, shame-filled eyes.  “Mama, I – ” he choked on a sob, my dear, devoted Fili going to comfort him.

“Kili?  Kili tell Mama – she will not be angry, I’m sure,” he implored, glancing to me for confirmation. 

His brother managed to swallow his sobs just long enough to choke out “Mama, I hit Uncle Thowiiiiin!!” his last syllable dragged out as his wailing overcame him again.  Relieved and, I confess, slightly amused, I gathered him to me once more, petting his soft hair. 

“That was naughty indeed, Kili,” I told him as firmly as I could bear to while he was so distressed, “but surely, it is not worth so many tears?”

“But – but what if I hurted him?” He hiccoughed, blinking at me sadly.  This time, I did share a tiny smile with my elder son.  The very thought of Kili – whom my brother could stand on his knee and still be almost a whole head taller than – being able to injure my sturdy older brother with his little fists was entirely ludicrous.  Even so, my son looked so distraught at the thought of it that I did not dare laugh for fear of upsetting further.

“Nay,” I said, shaking my head at him, “you could not hurt him, Kili.  And he knows you would never have meant to.  Do not worry so.”

Kili began to nod but stopped suddenly as the door to our chamber opened.  My soot-blackened brother appeared in the doorway having stripped off his jerkin and boots leaving him in undershirt and trousers clearly expecting us to have vacated the bathing chamber.  At the sight of my brother however, Kili dissolved into tears once more.  Thorin paused on the door threshold, face slackening in shock at Kili’s reaction and looking as though he would dearly like to leave again. 

“Uncle,” Fili began timidly, “you are not angry at Kili, are you?” My heart swelled with pride – my brave little Fili, putting aside his own upset and fears of my brother to gain reassurance for his brother.  Crossing to us, Thorin dropped to one knee beside me, surprise and concern showing openly upon his face.

 “Angry?” He asked, his gaze flicking briefly to Fili.  “Nay, I am not angry.  Why should I be?”

“He’s scared…because he hit you.”

My brother released a short huff of laughter, raising one hand to my younger son’s shaking back.  “Kili?  Kili, come now, what is this?”

I felt Kili pause in his crying at the gentle touch and his uncle’s unusually concerned voice.  I know from my own experiences of him both as a child and into my adulthood that my brother, for all his tempers and his gruff exterior, can be quite the master at comfort.  When he feels he absolutely has to be.  Sniffling, Kili turned his head towards my brother now, though he remained half hidden against my neck. 

“What is this?” Thorin repeated softly, his hand moving to brush the wild hair away from Kili’s face.  Leaning forwards, he lifted my son from my arms – damp towel and all – and stood with him, hushing him quietly.  “Kili, hear me,” he said gently, though his brows were furrowed, “I am not angry about today – you were very brave to defend you brother as you did.  I am certain he is grateful to have such a fierce younger brother behind him, protecting him from,” he paused and looked at Fili and myself, “from those tyrants who would do him wrong, even if they do not intend it as such.” 

I reached out one arm and drew Fili closer to my side, returning the small smile he sent me. 

“Not cross?” Kili asked in a small voice, clutching at Thorin’s shirt though not daring to look at him.

“No, lad,” Thorin confirmed, his eyes crinkling at the corners, “not cross.”  Drawing him away from his chest, my brother looked down at Kili intently.  “And you, little one, are you still cross at me for ill-treating your big brother so?”

Kili’s brow furrowed seriously, his little face so alike my brother’s but for his eyes.  “You shouted _vewy_ loud, Uncle,” he said uncertainly.  He slid his gaze to Fili and myself, eyes questioning.  I felt somewhat irked that my brother had chosen to seek forgiveness from my youngest first who was bound to forgive him anything, and I scowled knowingly at Thorin.  Still, it would not do to have either of my boys at odds with their beloved uncle if only for their own happiness.  And, though I felt it an injustice to my elder son for Thorin had yet to admit any wrongdoing – to him at least – I nodded slightly.  Beside me, Fili simply said, “It’s all right, Kili.”

Kili turned back to my brother, who raised his brows encouragingly at him.  My son’s face lit up and he beamed happily at him, wrapping pudgy arms around his neck once more.  Placing him back on the floor, Thorin looked at him in mock sternness. 

“ _You_ , young sir, are filthy.”

“But we just had a bath!” Outraged and dismayed, Kili turned to me for support.  “Mama, tell him!”

Regrettably, my brother was right.  Although Kili _had_ been clean, he had also just spent several minutes wrapped in my brother’s filthy, blackened arms and rubbing his face against Thorin’s soot-stained beard. 

“ _You_ got him dirty,” I pointed out mildly, standing and defiantly taking Fili’s hand to lead him to the door.  “And you’re about to bathe anyway.”  My brother’s resigned, slightly pleading, “ _Sister_!” was quite satisfying as we left the room.

* * *

 

When Thorin and Kili eventually reappeared, Fili and I were sat in my sons’ bed whilst I told him tales of my brothers’ exploits as children in Erebor (though I did not recall many of the events myself).  Some of them were, I admit, embellished whilst others were decidedly censored for his ears.  I suspect however, that he has heard the same stories in full from others – Dwalin is particularly fond of telling tales and the filthier and more inappropriate the better.

Thorin entered, Kili wrapped in his now (almost) clean arms and snoring quietly.  Seeing this, I slid from the bed so that Thorin could reach across Fili, who held carefully still so not to jostle them, and place Kili down.  As he drew back, Thorin brushed one hand across Fili’s golden head.  Crouching on the floor next to him, Thorin gazed at him intently for a moment.  Fili looked back nervously, unsure if he was about to be reprimanded again.

“I could not strike an axe or hammer blow sufficient to do any more than knock someone off their balance until I was near seventeen,” my brother announced suddenly, studying my son’s face for his reaction.  “My grandfather – your great-grandfather, Thror – bade me take up training from the age of six; I could not lift a sword, let alone a hammer.” 

Fili watched him with such open astonishment that I had to fight a grin.  My brother was flushing fiercely despite telling my son these truths of his own accord – it did not erase his earlier misconduct but I did feel a swell of affection for my proud older brother returning. 

“When you are better,” Thorin continued, rubbing my son’s shoulder regretfully, “we shall put aside the hammer for now and begin with the sword.  There is no shame in a sword, not if it is wielded skilfully.”

“What if I cannot lift that either?” Fili asked plaintively, his eyes filling.

“We shall begin with a wooden one – I haven’t a real one small enough for you yet and your Mother,” he paused and glanced up at me, “would no doubt object to my letting you loose with metal straight away.”

Fili turned and shot an annoyed look at me.  Thank you, Brother, for placing all blame on me.  He was right, of course, but from memories of my own training, it was _he_ who had demanded I not be let loose with a real sword until I had practiced for at least two years.

“Kili should learn too – I’m sure he could lift a wooden sword if it were _very_ little,” Fili said, eyeing both of us hopefully.  A rare, delighted grin spread across my brother’s face then and he suddenly drew my son into an embrace.

“Yes,” he agreed, squeezing Fili tightly, “Yes, Kili must learn too.”

“If he starts now though,” Fili said, suddenly uncertain, “by the time he’s my age he’ll be better than me!”

Both my brother and I laughed a little at his concerns.  “He may not favour the sword, Fili, or you might return to the hammer – do not worry.”

“Anyway, what if he is?”  Thorin asked, his voice taking on a slight warning tone.  “You may be glad to know it one day.”

“Was Uncle Frerin ever better than you?  Or at least as good as?”

My brother paused and his suddenly troubled eyes sought me out.  I felt my chest constrict, and I nodded slightly, placing my hand on his shoulder.    He placed one of his own, paw-like hands over mine, squeezing slightly.  “No,” he said finally, “no, he was not.”  _And Frerin is dead_ , I thought _._

Fili nodded sleepily then, turning over to face Kili and wrapping one arm over him as always.  Dismissed, Thorin walked us both to the door, his hand still loosely wrapped around mine.  Closing the door, he turned to me, a troubled frown gracing his features.

“Sister, I – ”

“Don’t.  Please, let me speak.”

He nodded reluctantly.

“You should not have shouted at them as you did, nor forced Fili to continue through his pain,” I told him sternly.

“I thought only to – ” he broke off, jaw working furiously, “I did not know, did not _see_ he was in such pain.” 

“He hid it from you well,” I conceded, knowing how my son would have fought to keep his uncle from seeing his struggle.  “But you should have seen, Thorin.”

“I didn’t realise it was that bad,” he admitted regretfully.  Suddenly, a thought seemed to strike him and a small grin began to tug at the corner of his mouth, “Not even when Kili _beat_ me so soundly for it.”

“I hope you will learn from your punishment, Brother,” I teased, feeling the warmth between us return.

He grinned but suddenly, sobered.  “Frerin would not have fought for me as your little one did for Fili,” he informed me a touch of bitterness entering his voice. 

“You are not so terrifying a master as Thror or our father,” I told him, placing my hand on his folded arms.  “Kili knows he needn’t fear you, not really.” 

My brother snorted.  “Does he indeed?”

“And Frerin would have you know, if you had let him.”

Thorin glared at me, though it was short-lived.  “You are growing melancholy, Sister,” he informed me dismissively though I know his thoughts were still on our brother.  He led us down the passage to the kitchens adding, “And I am growing hungry, so enough of this now.”

I laughed and bumped my shoulder with his.  He returned it, winking at me fondly.  I loved my big brother dearly though I was not blind to his flaws, and this side of him, this private side that proved he could be and was something besides Durin’s heir had become so rare when we were children but had been lost completely in our days of wandering and grief.  Now, settled and, for the most part happy here in Ered Luin, though it would never be Erebor, this side of him was beginning to return if only a little.  Some part of me, the part that I would not reveal to my brother as long as I live– for he is yet the Prince – thinks that perhaps we could truly settle here and be happy.  Be content. 

I am a daughter of kings-under-the-mountain, a princess by birth, but first, I am a mother, first, I am a sister. 


	2. Missing - Thorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Overhead, the moon peered out from darkened clouds that foretold of yet more storms and downpours. It bathed the world in cold, silver light that cast shadows across familiar sights – the buildings he had scaled, the well that he had once persuaded Fili to lower him into ‘just because’, the path along which he would trail to meet me from my work, incessant chattering that would make my head spin. I could not bear to look at them – I saw his ghost everywhere, on each one. I stumbled."
> 
> In which Kili goes missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin's POV

Had there ever been a Fili without Kili?  Had my eldest ever known what it was to be the only instead of the first?  How would he bear it if it should come to pass now?  These thoughts, fractured as they were, were all that filled my mind as I walked.  Behind me, I heard whispered words of loss and sympathy from my companions – most a father, or at least an uncle like me – who thought that he could imagine, could understand, what it was to be me at that moment.  I hated them.  Truly, in that moment, with all my being, _despised_ them.

Overhead, the moon peered out from darkened clouds that foretold of yet more storms and downpours.  It bathed the world in cold, silver light that cast shadows across familiar sights – the buildings he had scaled, the well that he had once persuaded Fili to lower him into ‘just because’, the path along which he would trail to meet me from my work, incessant chattering that would make my head spin.  I could not bear to look at them – I saw his ghost everywhere, on each one.  I stumbled, my heart seizing.  To my right, Balin paused, reached out a hand to guide me towards home.  It was a testament to my grief that I should allow such treatment from him, from anybody.

As we came within sight of the house, I stopped, unable to take another step.  From deep within my mind, a voice not unlike my father’s demanded I get control of myself.  It was undignified to show such blatant discomposure before my fellows – my people.  Vaguely, I heard Balin and Oin dismissing our company with quiet promises of keeping them informed.  I could have laughed.  A dwarfling, not yet seven years old, missing since dawn and gone Aule knew where with rain as had not been seen in the Blue Mountains in all the time since we had settled there.  What more news could there possibly be that every one of us could not already foretell? 

“Go back to your houses,” my voice was rough but somehow I managed to keep it steady.  I knew not how.  In answer, two hands descended upon my shoulders firmly, squeezing.  My cousins stood to my sides, though neither looked at me.  “Go back to – ”

“We’ll see you to the door, laddie.”

My skin crawled at being spoken to like that – ‘ _laddie’_ as if I were not their king, as if I were no older than a dwarfling – than my nephews!  I thought to strike him down.  Strike both of them.  Before I could however, something in me froze, replacing whatever anger was in me with grief.  Nephews?  _Nephew_.  As of this night, I had but one sister-son.  I could not have fought off either of my cousins then if I had tried.  So strange, this weakness.

I knew not how but when next I opened my eyes, my sister’s door was before me, flying open as we approached. 

“Kili?” my nephew flew from his mother’s arms, hopeful eyes seeking out his brother.  “Uncle?”  There was such heartbroken confusion in his voice that I thought I might break down and weep.  He turned his eyes on me now, barely glancing at my companions.  “Uncle?  Where…where is he?”

I could not look at him.  Could not bear to see his disappointment at my failure.  I raised my eyes to Dís, my dearest, most treasured sister.  I shook my head.  Ever so slightly.  My nephew saw it anyway.

“NO!” I daresay all of us – perhaps Fili included – were surprised at the anger in his voice, the accusation – as if I had intentionally returned without his brother.

I did not speak to interrupt his ranting, did not tell him that nigh on everyone he knew had spent all evening – some, like me, giving up their day’s wage – searching for our lost boy.  In truth, I scarcely looked at him, my eyes not leaving my sister’s face.  She held my gaze a moment before turning away and I thought my heart, such as it is, would break for the ruin in her eyes.  Finally, my eyes sought out my one remaining nephew.  Through his frenzy, I had been vaguely aware of his striking me over and over, small hands thumping at every part of me that he could reach.  I did not notice him stop, though Oin now held him securely against himself, my nephews struggling becoming weaker as his sobbing overcame him.  I knelt beside him and, at my nod, Oin released his hold on him.

“Fili…”

He swung, one fist catching me square across the jaw.  I fell back in shock, pain blossoming across my face.  Had I not felt so wretchedly hopeless, I would have been proud.  His eyes widened, face slackening in surprise and, unless I were much mistaken, guilt.  Above us, I heard Balin and Oin’s shocked exclamations but far louder, I heard my nephew’s whimper as his face crumpled once more.  Instinctively, I reached out for him but he would have none of it, or me.

Turning, he darted out of my grasp and after his mother leaving me once more alone with my companions.  There followed a slightly shocked silence.

“Will we go out again, Thorin?” Oin asked, his hand upon my shoulder once more.  When I did not answer, Balin spoke up for me, sending Oin away and advising him to take shelter from the storm that was moving in.  Used to living primarily underground where the seasons and the elements cannot reach us, we dwarves do not fare well in rain.  Although he had never been far from them, my thoughts turned once more to my lost nephew who, even now, was out there alone, most likely afraid, possibly even injured.  I could scarce breathe from the anguish in my heart. 

“Thorin?” My sister’s voice startled me from my thoughts, her pale face appearing in front of me where I was still kneeling on the increasingly wet earth.  Though her breath hitched, she was the picture of dignified composure – far more than could be said for me I shouldn’t wonder.  “Come inside, Brother.”  She ordered resignedly, “the hour is late.  There…there is nothing more to be done.”

* * *

 

As I dried off, my clothes steaming over the hearth, I watched my sister’s movements.  Though clearly wearied, she showed none of the weakness I was showing.  I ought to have been comforting her and her son, not leaving Fili to comfort himself whilst she waited on me.  When our brother died, I had not offered her comfort; too consumed with my rage, my self-hatred and the increasing demands of my position as Prince, I kept her from my thoughts as deliberately as she kept herself from my company.  We could not bear to be around one another for weeks yet here she was, her youngest son gone, and she busied herself with drying my clothes.  It was utter madness. 

“Do you blame me, Sister?” I had not intended to say it aloud, but there it was.

“No,” she assured me tearfully.  I nodded, toying with the idea of going to her but of course, I would not.  What good could it do?  Even so, the sight of her so valiantly fighting off tears pulled at heart.

“I should hope not,” I told her eventually, summoning the cool dignity and self-control with which I had been raised.

It was no failing of mine that her son could not be found.  Nor indeed, was it my fault that he had strayed so far from home without being stopped in the first place.  I could not control the weather and I could not _force_ our kinsmen and neighbours to continue looking for my fool of a nephew when to do so would be dangerous to them.  It was neither her fault, nor Fili’s that our boy had wandered so far from home – though some small part of me whispered that surely _someone_ had been watching him.  It was nobody’s fault but his own that he likely now lay somewhere, cold and unmoving.  If he had not…I raised my hand to my eyes, unable to even comprehend my thoughts.

Presently, the door opened and a dishevelled Fili wandered aimlessly into the kitchen.  He paused on the threshold, glancing at me before going to his mother.  Absentmindedly, she wrapped one arm around his shoulders, rubbing gently.

“It is late,” I was mildly surprised to find myself so harsh, “You ought to be in bed.”

Fili’s answer was to press himself closer to my sister, staring reproachfully out from underneath her arm. 

“Thorin, leave him be.”

“It is late,” I repeated firmly, pinching the bridge of my nose.  Could they not see that it did no good to be weighed down by one’s emotions?  Fili, a child, had no place here.  There would be time for mourning but this was not it.  “He has training in the morning – he should be asleep!”

“Mama?” Fili began plaintively, clearly having decided to ignore me completely.  I could not summon the energy to care – if he would not sleep then so be it.  It was his choice, as it had been his brother’s choice to run off and get lost.  “Kili is afraid of storms – he doesn’t like the thunder giants.  We have to go and find him!”

“There are no thunder giants in Ered Luin, Fili,” I informed him, somewhat tersely.  Why could he not just go to bed and leave me in peace?  More importantly, why did I not go to bed myself and leave them to comfort each other?  They’d surely be of more use to each other than I could be to either of them.  Against my will, memories of my youngest nephew filled my mind, terrified and half-asleep, he would often wander into my room seeking my protection from the raging weather.  But no more.

“I will go and look for him!” Fili declared hotly, staring at me with open condemnation.  I avoided his gaze, I would not – could not – see that look upon my nephew’s face.  “If you will not go, then I will!”

We all jumped as a particularly deafening roll of thunder rent the air.  Self-loathing and the desire to uphold my family’s self-possession fought inside of me, I could feel myself tremble with the effort of remaining outwardly calm whilst within me, my grief for my little nephew threatened to overwhelm me.  I heard my sister ‘shushing’ my nephew, could see her rocking him gently and felt my breathing become ragged.  I closed my eyes against the warm hearth and flashing lightning, attempted to close my heart to my sister and child’s grief but of course it was to no avail. 

A life of war and suffering and loss teaches one to become cold, reserved, but what use was that now, here?  Death came to the old and the sick, to those too _weak_ to defend themselves from life’s foes.  It should not come to rosy-cheeked, strong little boys whose only troubles involved too-watchful guardians and imaginary evils.

“Uncle?”  Fili’s voice had turned desperate, tearful once more.  He came to stand at my side, raising one hand to mine.  “Please?”

I would not look.  I would not.  But breaking through my thoughts came my nephew’s voice, asking – _begging_ – me to do something.  To make this right, to return his little brother to him and his mother.  And suddenly, as if waking from a dream, I realised.  Dís, my brave, dignified, _dearest_ sister, was crying.  As was my nephew.

And Kili was afraid of storms. 

Kili _is_ afraid of storms.

I left the house without a backwards glance, heading to call for help from my fellow dwarves again.  I would find him.  I _would_.  Even if it took me all night – even if it meant forfeiting a _week’s_ earnings.  My nephew – my treasured smallest nephew – was missing and alone and _terrified_ of this raging weather.

* * *

 

The storm, though still erupting over the mountains, had passed somewhat by the time I made it to the woods again.  I scanned the many different routes that my nephew could have taken that morning hoping – wishing – for some sign that told me which one to take.  It dawned on me that if anyone could have helped, my elder nephew probably could have; he would know their favourite places, favourite trees to climb or paths to run along.  But then, Fili had spent most of the afternoon looking too and he had not found him.  A familiar hopelessness began to settle inside of me.  There were too many places, too many paths and why should I find him now, when a group of fifteen had not been able to?  And in daylight no less.

Lifting my hands to my mouth, I called, raising my voice as high as I could to be heard above the storm.  Shouted until my throat was raw and I could almost _feel_ the fever I would have the next day.  To my left, the usually trickling stream gushed and splashed like rapids.  Several times, I thought I caught sight of him being buffeted about by the water but came up empty handed each time with only driftwood or other debris.  Each time, I would feel my heart freeze and my eyes stinging before the moment of realisation set in that it was not my nephew and that he may yet be safe.

All around me, when there was a lull in the weather, I would hear others shouting his name, calling over and over again but there never came any answer.  Each time we came across one another they would cast me such looks of pity that I thought I would explode from my rage.  How dare they give up? How dare they decide whether my nephew was alive or dead?!  Though deep inside of me, I confess, I agreed.  As the night wore on, I knew – I just _knew_ – that we were not looking for my happy, _healthy_ little nephew anymore. 

No matter.  I would find him now even if I were the only one left looking.  I would not return to my sister and her remaining son without him.

“THORIN!”

I looked up wildly, looking about me for the source of the cry.  Had that been Dwalin?  Balin?  And which direction?

I took several readying breaths before shouting at the top of my lungs.  “WHO CALLS?”  Several voices answered me, though I could not tell who they were.  I ran towards their voices, crashing through the undergrowth though the brambles whipped my face and snagged at my hair.  My companions kept up their shouting that I would know which direction to go.  After what seemed like an age, I found them, huddled together underneath a great oak tree staring fearfully up into its branches.  Joining them, I too looked up.

Had I been less out of breath and had the situation been less dire, I would have laughed.  In fact, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if I had, so relieved was I.  Peering down at us from one of the lower braches (though it was still _very_ high in dwarf terms – particularly in relation to my _tiny_ nephew), I could make out my nephew’s pale face and huge, dark eyes.  I released a funny, choking sound that may or may not have been a dry sob and looked expectantly around at my companions.

“Well?” I barked hoarsely, “Don’t just stand there, we need to get him down!”  From above me, I heard my nephew make sounds that were most definitely sobs.  Looking back up, I could see him preparing to dangle himself from the branch in his desperation to get to us.  “Don’t you dare!”  I shouted, before I could stop myself, seeing the way the branches were moving in the wind and hoping I had only imagined the way my nephew’s perch had seemed to fall a few inches towards us as he moved.  Calming myself, I said firmly, “Just do not move.  Kili, we will get you down but do not move.  Do you understand me?”

Still sobbing, Kili nodded slowly, retreating back onto his perch.  I don’t know what we would have done if what happened next had not happened; we were too far away from the town to fetch a ladder or anything else we could use to get him down.  Fortunately, though I have always told my sister some tale of standing on shoulders or some such nonsense, there came a tremendous flash of lightning and my nephew hurled himself at me from his perch.  Of course, being so small and so afraid, he had misjudged his leap and it was only by the quick reactions of Dwalin that he did not crash to the earth.  I stood frozen for a moment, horrified, before rushing at them both. 

My nephew clung to me, squalling like a babe and in all honesty, I could not say who trembled more.  I tucked his freezing body against mine, pointlessly wrapping my drenched furs around him and brushing my hand over his hair.  I could hardly breathe so great was my relief at having him in my arms, alive and, from what I could tell, blessedly unharmed.  I do not know how long we stood there, in the pouring rain before it occurred to me to start walking back.  Gradually, I became aware that I was pointlessly repeating his name over and over and that he had at some point stopped his wailing and begun to simply weep against my shoulder.  Stopping and holding him out before me, as if he were no more than a sack of flour, I schooled my features into a scowl.  I had very little need of pretence.  I had no intention of pampering him after such behaviour – he had no business being this far from the town without even his brother to watch him and he knew it.

“What in _Durin’s_ name are you doing out here?” I thundered, shaking him slightly.

My nephew hiccupped, no doubt surprised at my anger before dissolving back into sobbing, reaching out to me with both arms, near begging to be held once more. 

“Thorin…” I heard several of my fellows’ soft reprimands, though none of them dared tell me outright that they disapproved.

“Kili!  Answer me!”

To his credit, he did try.  Several times, he opened his mouth and began some sort of explanation but his words were so garbled by his bawling that in the end even I had to concede it was hopeless. 

I vaguely heard someone behind me mutter “For pity’s sake, if he’ll not comfort the poor laddie…” but its speaker was cut off before I could recognise who it had been.  Though, admittedly, I did not much care.  Kili’s eyes were screwed shut as he wailed, arms and legs flailing and I was just beginning to think he would soon have cried himself out when his tears became interspersed with retching as if he would be ill.  I could stand it no longer, this was intolerable!  I brought him to me again, nodding my thanks when Balin removed his own outer garment for me to wrap around the tiny form.  Still, he clung to me.

* * *

 

We reached town much faster it seemed to me, than we had before.  Again, my companions left us one by one, most pausing to pet the hair or caress the cheek of my quietly sniffling nephew.  Dwarflings are so rarely born, when one of us loses one for whatever reason, we each feel it as if it had been our own.  Now that I had Kili safe with me, I could appreciate their kind words from earlier – they had been no less sincere than those I had spoken to them when the occasion called for it.  My nephew barely stirred as they bid him goodnight, head barely peeking out from my pelts.  I knew I ought to make him thank them for finding him but I hadn’t the heart to do so, tomorrow morning if he were well enough, would be soon enough.

Eventually, it was only my nephew and I left, even Balin having returned to his own house.  As before, the door was thrown open as I approached, my sister and nephew – my _eldest_ nephew, for I still blessedly had two – waiting on the threshold.  Their face remained unchanged as I drew closer so I tugged down one covering, just slightly to reveal my tiny companion’s head.  Fili gave a most undignified squeal and was out of the door before I could tell him to stay where it was dry.

“Fili…” I admonished though without a trace of ire, bending to grab him up as well and carrying them both back to their mother.  He squirmed in my grasp, fussing over his brother and pulling layers closer to him.  Kili, as far as I could tell, barely moved, instead choosing to keep his face pressed against my neck, though he did reach one hand out for his brother’s.  I approached Dís with a weary smile that quickly turned to concern as I drew nearer – she looked fit to faint!  Seeing my concern, she smiled tremulously back at me, shaking her head and reaching out her hands to take her baby from my arms.  As she took him, I began to draw back, half-considering taking the opportunity to scold his older brother.  The child had bare feet for goodness sake!  Was he entirely mad?

Kili had barely left my arms when I felt my sister’s hand on the back of my neck, drawing me back towards her, the boys squeezed in between us.  I did have the forethought to close the door with my foot but beyond that, there was very little in my mind beyond my sister and her sons and the very thought that for a long time tonight, we had thought Fili, like myself, no longer had a baby brother.  There would be reprimands and consequences – many of them in fact – in the morning when we had all had time to recover but for now, Aule had been good to us.

* * *

 

It was nearing dawn when at last my sister and I sat down.  She had given both boys warm baths and I had set the fire in their bedroom before she settled them in – together, for they would not be parted – and got them to drift off.  There had been tears from both of them, as well as my sister, to be home and safe and together but eventually their exhaustion had overcome them.  I sat now by the hearth, drifting in and out of sleep, each time waking with a start and an ice-cold fear that our child was still out there.  Each time, my sister would greet me with the same reassurance – ‘ _he is safe, he is home.  Do not worry’_ – and I would stay awake listening to her softly advising me to go to bed.  I had at least removed my drenched clothing, donning nightshirt and hose before collapsing into the chair in which I now sat.

“I do believe you shall have a fever,” came my sister’s voice, sounding distant and high above me.  I could not help but shy away as she placed her seemingly cold hand upon my forehead, I did not have the energy to feel disgruntled as I felt her press a kiss into my hair.  Let the woman fuss, she must have felt such anguish tonight I could not begrudge her.

“Kili too,” I rasped eventually, unsure how much time had passed since she last spoke.  As we had been walking, I had felt how hot my nephew’s head was compared to his icy limbs – he may have been home but I could not say with any confidence that he was ‘safe’.  I would visit Oin in his little apothecary in the morning, I told my sister so.

She ‘mmed’ somewhere nearby and suddenly I felt a warm mug being pressed into my hands.  Opening my eyes I peered dubiously into its depths, sniffing it cautiously.

“Drink, it will help,” Dís told me sternly, arms folded.  I began to protest but the steam rising from my mug was beginning to cause all manner of unfortunate reactions – I sneezed instead.  Then coughed, quite ferociously.  And still my sister would not be moved, she remained watching only moving to take the drink from my hands when in my outburst I near covered myself in it. 

I sat back finally, exhausted, my head pounding.  If _I_ could be reduced to this so quickly then I pitied my poor nephew greatly for he would surely suffer far worse than me. 

“Thorin, drink.” My sister repeated more gently, kneeling at my side.  Whatever turmoil I had experienced this night was nothing compared with her own suffering.  Tomorrow her son would need her but for now he slept soundly and my dearest sister sought to take care of me.  _Me_ of all people. Like so many of our quarrels, I knew when to relinquish the field.  I nodded wearily; I hadn’t the energy to fight back as I normally might have. 

The warm liquid did, I admit, feel good against my aching throat.  When I had done, I set my head back against the chair and deciding to bed there for what was left of the night.  Dís would of course have none of it.  Without so much as a ‘ _by your leave, Brother’_ , she began pulling on my arm, dragging me from my seat.  I attempted to growl but, between my throat and bone-weariness, I fear it may have come out as more of a whine.

“This is an unsavoury habit, Sister,” I informed her hoarsely as she heaved my arm about her shoulders and began to guide me to my rooms.  We did not often quarrel (though when we do so properly I have been informed it is a somewhat fearsome sight), but when we did it seemed increasingly common that I should be either too weary or unwell to stay at it for long. 

She made no reply though I thought I saw her beard twitch slightly.  Slowly, we made our way down the darkened passages to our sleeping chambers and I allowed her to pause as we came to the nursery.  She had left the door ajar so that we might hear if one of her sons awoke and to stop the air from becoming too sweltering for them.  She looked a question at me and I nodded, leaning heavily against the doorpost as she shrugged my arm off and crossed to the bed.

I watched Dís feel Kili’s forehead though even from where I was I could see the flush in his cheeks, and she glanced back at me sadly.  Tucking them in closer, her hands lingered over their heads – one golden like his father’s, the other darker than even my own – brushing stray hairs from their faces and such a haunted, lost look on her face that I felt my chest constrict once more. 

“Dís,” I called, as loudly as I dared.  She turned, looking almost surprised to see me, giving them one last look before returning to my side.

For the first time in perhaps a decade – since Kili was in swaddling clothes – my sister stayed in my chamber that night.  We did not speak of missing dwarflings, or of another little boy we had both known many years before who, like Kili, had a startling propensity for getting lost, in fact we spoke very little at all.  As I felt myself slipping further into sleep, I reiterated my promise to fetch a healer to Kili.

“I’ll send Fili in the morning.  Kili is well enough for now,” she said, not quite stroking my head as she had her sons but very close to it.  It felt…soothing to be taken care of so.

“ _I_ will go.”

Beside me, Dís tutted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to say, I hope I do the emotion in this justice and that (as always) I haven't made anyone woefully OOC. I'd like to think not.
> 
> As always, please comment. T.


	3. New Hope - Thorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Durin's line gains a new heir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin's POV

The infant was small – smaller than he had any business being really – but the nurse assured me he was sturdy enough. He had entered the world as all great dwarves were expected to, with a hearty battle cry that foretold of great victories to come, and had not caused his mother or nurse unnecessary alarm. And it was a boy, thankfully, though there had never really been much doubt. Women are born so rarely to our race that, were it not for my need for a succession, a girl might have been more welcome.

I studied the little face, delicate features soft in sleep and found myself wondering absently what colour eyes lay behind his lids. It was of little consequence of course but still…

"Well, Brother?"

I turned to the other inhabitants of the room, turning my back on my new heir – for he was, I had no doubt of it. If he proved suitable this child would succeed me as leader of my people, I was quite resolved that I was unsuited for marriage and all dwarf-maidens I met appeared to concur. Strange…my heir.

My sister, thankfully redressed since her ordeal, sat wearily in her bed, her hair and beard hanging loose. Beside her sat my heir's father, both of them anxiously awaiting my judgment.

"It is too soon to tell," I told them, glancing back at the sleeping babe. "Is he strong?" I asked, wandering to where refreshments had been laid upon a sideboard and pouring light wine into silver goblets.

"Very," Fitalí assured me quickly, nervously, his hand on my sister's shoulder. "He clasped my finger so tightly I thought I should have to leave it with him!"

I pursed my lips at his feeble attempt at a joke. Where matters of succession were concerned, neither he nor his humour were particularly welcome to me. "Dís?"

My sister hesitated, glancing at her husband's crestfallen face. "He is strong, Thorin, very strong." She assured me, though her eyebrows were knit disapprovingly.

I glanced into the cot once more, watching the rise and fall of his tiny chest and wondering how anything so small could hold even the slightest strength. "Very strong, are you?" I asked quietly, barely resisting the urge to test his father's claims with my own hand. "That is well."

Retreating, I handed wine to both of his parents and took up my own. "He'll do," I announced, raising my cup to my sister. They both seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. My sister nodded at me once, beaming proudly and dashing tears from her face. Wordlessly I offered her my handkerchief but it was Fitalí who took it from me.

"He'll more than  _do_ , my love," he murmured, kissing her forehead and wiping her tears. I resisted telling him that it was only by  _his_  blood that there had ever been any doubt; the child seemed healthy enough and Dís seemed pleased, I would not have ruined her most important of days by quarrelling with her husband. I refilled my cup.

"What shall you name him?"

They both looked slightly stunned, as though they had expected me to take that honour from them. I could not fathom why; he was their son, and would remain so regardless of any reservations  _I_ had so why should I name him? My only hope was that they named him something sensible and not so extravagant as his father's name, what Fitalí's parents had been thinking I could not guess. Two syllables was  _plenty_   for a woman, and just right for a man. Whoever heard of giving a child a name so long as  _Fitalí_? It was unheard of in any dwarf – Firebeard or Blacklock – that I had ever encountered, in a Longbeard it would be downright obscene.

"We…had thought of Fíli," Dís told me slowly, though there was a shadow of her usual defiance in her voice as though she dared me to object.

I raised my brows in surprise. I had been certain I would have to defend the poor mite from his father's ridiculous names but apparently the fellow had shown some sense. That, or my sister had beaten him down.

"Fíli?" I repeated thoughtfully. Fíli, son of Fitalí. He would never be known as such, of course, not when he could instead be known as Fíli, son of Dís, daughter of  _Thrain_ , but it seemed necessary to at least test the name. If he proved wanting somehow, or if his father ever had occasion to distinguish himself as a warrior, then he may yet return to the name.

"It is… dignified, in its way, don't you think?" My brother-in-law's hesitancy both pleased and annoyed me.

I watched them both, anxiety written across their faces once more before gazing down appraisingly at the child. "Fíli…" I repeated again, letting the name fill my mind as I looked at him. "It is," I admitted eventually, picturing the relief upon their faces, "I rather like it." I blinked wondering what had possessed me to say such a thing and what I could say to recover from such a slip, "Well, it is as good a name as any other. It will suit him well."

When I turned, my sister's lips were turned up in a smirk as she looked at me, while her husband grinned proudly. I wished I could begrudge him it – Mahal knew I begrudged him a good deal of other things – but I could not. "I shall inform our kin," I told them, suddenly feeling woefully out of place here with them and their newborn son. Their smiles faltered and my sister grasped my hand as I passed the bed, pulling me down beside her. "He is a fine child, Sister," I assured her, allowing myself to run one hand across her unkempt head, "You should be very proud…I am very pleased with him."

She released me, her eyes shining and I stood once more. Making for the door, I nodded once at Fitalí who returned it, still looking mildly concerned. Once outside, I stood for a moment, closing my eyes and allowing images of my new successor to flood my mind. He looked far more like his father than his mother, which was unfortunate but could not be helped and I hoped for his sake he would grow into his nose though his father still had not managed it. His hair was golden, what little he had of it, which again made him more his father's son than anyone else's but then our brother had always had defiantly yellow hair as well; all the same if he were going to take after his father in looks, I thought he might at least have taken after  _us_ in colouring.

"Thorin?"

I opened my eyes, startled and annoyed that anyone should be down here when it was well known my sister was laid in.

"You are  _pale_ , laddie."

I scowled fiercely at my cousin's words.

"Is Lady Dís quite well? Is the child?"

Though I did not say so, I was touched at his obvious concern. Sighing, I lead Balin away from my sister's chamber so as not to disturb them. "My sister is well," I told him, not bothering to hide the relief I felt at those words, "and the child is sleeping soundly."

"And will he do?"

"Yes," I could feel a grin tugging at my lips, "Yes, he will do very well. Very well indeed."

"And his father?" Balin inquired knowingly.

"Fitalí too," I agreed reluctantly. For the sake of my heir, I would have to put aside my reservations regarding his father; we would never be rid of him now. Not that my sister would have been parted from him anyway.

"His name?"

"Fíli."

Balin nodded slowly, no doubt already thinking of his scrolls and history tomes. "I have not heard of it before," he began, "but then all great names must come from  _someone_. Shall I send word to Dain?"

I wondered whether my cousin would be relieved or disappointed to be superseded as my heir. I imagined he would likely be relieved for he was happy, I knew, settled as he was in the Iron Hills. What cared he for our fallen kingdom or for its kingship? I felt a swell of bitterness as I thought of the celebrations and glad tidings in my Grandfather's halls had we still been in Erebor – the new prince, a sign from Mahal that Durin's line would never fail and that the crown of my forefathers would ever be passed from generation to generation unbroken and unchallenged. Instead, we would send a few pitiful envoys to bear the news to Dain in the East and drink the child's health from beautifully carved but worthless cups. He would be swaddled in cloth and be bedded in hot woollen blankets not the soft, lavish satins into which his mother had been born. No songs would be sung by our kin over the mountains for this new heir of Durin, born above ground as if he were no better than the lost wretches of men who ventured forth from ruined Tharbad to trade with us.

The pride I had taken in him, the relief that our line continued seemed foolish now. I had thought to take to my halls this evening, to drink his health with our people but…far better we drink my cousin's swift demise and my assuming his place as Lord of the Iron Hills. Dain's land held no appeal for me – why should it when my rightful place was in Erebor? – but his life was charmed, his halls plentiful. My sister's child would grow stronger and taller in Dain's territory than here, scratching a living from long-abandoned mines and trading at a loss with the ruthless Dunlendings or our so-called kin from across the River Luin.

I did not wish death upon Dain, like my sister and myself, he had lost much in his life and when his father – Nain, my own father's cousin – had fallen at the gates of Moria, summoned thither by his loyalty to Thror, there came a divide between us that could not be mended. He would not swear his allegiance to me nor to my descendants though he would honour them as his kin and we were, until today, each other's heirs (I, having played no part in raising his kingdom would lay no claims to his seat ere his death). Yet he and Nain had accepted with grace those who had fled to them from Erebor; as his kin, we would be welcomed there as Lords of Durin's line but ever be inferior to the Lords of the Iron Hills who had kept their kingdom where we had not. I could not allow those who had loyally followed Grandfather to the West to fall so far as to go to Dain as beggars at his door; I was certain that my sister, truly her father's daughter, would never lower herself to do so either.

Far better Dain's reign end and his lands pass to me that we might finally gain back our honour as descendants of the greatest of the Seven Fathers. Alas, Dain had ever proven himself both as enduring and as solid as the mountain under which he had been born, I feared he would not relinquish his dominion until he had heirs of his own and I had long since joined our ancestors in Aulë's Halls.

"Thorin?" Balin's voice, slightly impatient, once more interrupted my thoughts, "Shall I send word to Dain?"

"Of course."

As if there had ever been any doubt that Dain would need to be informed of this new arrival. Beside me, Balin paused a moment before clapping me on the shoulder and departing. Slowly, I followed him out, stopping at my own chambers to don what splendored clothing I could. Thus having made my presentable, I made for our meeting halls where I knew several of our closest neighbours were awaiting news of my sister and her child. Even so, on entering the room I was surprised to see so many of our people gathered. Perhaps it was because my sister was who she was and so well loved, or perhaps it was because one family had so recently lost a child but every one of them looked up anxiously as I entered.

Despite my darker thoughts, I felt pride and not a small amount of happiness swelling within me as I prepared to announce the birth of my heir. I took up my place – for my father's people had not been so wandering and uncivilised that we had not been able to construct a throne room, even if it did more often serve as a market hall – and drew myself up to my fullest height. A hush fell over the room and it was not arrogance that led me to believe I saw awe on several faces.

"I HAVE A SON!"

Like the rest of my people, I turned outraged eyes upon the newcomer. With unseemly excitement, my brother-in-law threw himself into the throng of his kinfolks, clapping shoulders and embracing them, completely oblivious to the unseemliness of his display not to mention the outright insult he was causing both my esteemed kin and me. I waited, summoning all the restraint of my forbearers to keep myself from throttling him. Over the heads of my sister's in-laws, I shared dark looks with several of my counsellors, gritting my teeth as Dwalin rubbed his hand across his jaw attempting to disguise his grin.

Traitor.

He was usually the first to condemn Fitalí's behaviour, particularly where my sister was concerned – Fitalí was not courtly enough, did not show sufficient prowess with weaponry, cared too little for lore and metal craft and too much for artistry and ill thought out feats of courage. To be frank, I never saw Dwalin so happy as when my hapless brother-in-law unintentionally (for he wouldst ne'er dare to do so deliberately) undermined me – in trivial matters of course – he found it entirely too amusing to see this…vagabond flout my authority. I cleared my throat. Loudly.

The effect was instantaneous. From amidst the sea of red and yellow heads, my sister's husband turned to me, clearly attempting to regain some control over his emotions. Seeing me standing ready to address my court his face paled. He glanced around the room, no doubt taking in the assembled dignitaries and the furious expressions on their faces – even Dwalin had managed his usual scowl – before turning back to me, dark eyes widening.

"Forgive me, Thorin," he muttered, an intense blush creeping up his face as he disentangled himself from his friends. "I did not think."

A constant failing in him.

I inclined my head slightly, accepting his apology even if he had still addressed me by name rather than title, as he ought to have done. He stood awkwardly to one side as I took up my place once more and announced my heir. He would be presented to the court before long but for now he and his mother slept. I spoke of how the arrival of the next heir heralded a change of fortunes for us all, foretold a life of prosperity and happiness and marked this glorious day as the first of many. They listened with rapt attention, the struggling remnants of a proud race who now clung on to what false reassurances they were given. It would be many years before our township here would truly resemble a kingdom of old but as I spoke, I found myself half believing it.

Erebor was our home, it was my rightful place; but why should we not prosper here as Fitalí's ancestors had done in the first age? The time would come to reclaim Erebor as we had reclaimed this place but I felt in my heart that it would not be me who sat upon its throne, if I were even present at its taking. As my father had before me, so to would I lay the foundations of a great nation here in the north of Ered Luin and build a life for my people and for my sister's descendants. Let Dain keep his iron and from it forge crude weaponry with which to defend his people from the Easterlings who dwelt across the mountains; here we would craft objects of such beauty as was only ever seen in Erebor. We would travel far to the kingdoms of men to sell our wares and bring back great collections of treasure. Here would we build a new realm upon the ruins of Nogrod and Belegost; our kin that fled to Dain would leave him now to join us here, in Thorin's Halls where ruled the eldest son of the eldest sons – Durin's true line.

I paused, for I had spoken much of my thoughts aloud, feeling a familiar but long-forgotten pride swell in me such as I had not felt since fleeing Erebor so many years ago. I sought my cousins' eyes across the room and knew they felt it too – a new heir, the dawning of a new era. I briefly sought Fitalí but it seemed he had, at some point, slipped away, presumably back to his wife and child. No matter. He was Úri's folk – a merchant – he had never seen Thror's hall nor gazed in wonder upon the Arkenstone; promises of a return to Erebor and of Durin's line were of little consequence to him. Erebor was lost – those among us that could recall it at all would likely never see its halls again. But, our people were not the first to be forced from their home by war or famine, we made new homes where we could and we  _endured_.

From deep within my family's halls and echoing up the passages, the newborn's cries rent the air. Hale and hearty and full of a life that had been all but missing from my sister and our kin since the deaths of so many at Azanulbizar. With this new heir, my people had hope once more.

This new heir, my  _sister's child_ , would see in the centuries that I would not and under his leadership,  _our_  people would endure.

* * *

I paused outside her door, hearing the murmuring voices of my sister and her husband. In the hall, both our peoples drank deeply, some already composing short verses that narrated my sister-son's birth. When my sister was strong enough to leave her chambers there would be feasting; already I knew hunting parties and merchants were on their way to Tharbad to gather what they could for supplies.

For now, I brought wine and food to sustain her until morning. I wondered whether or not I should knock, whether my doing so would disturb the infant, which I was loathe to do after my sister's ordeal. In the end I did knock very gently, disturbing their quiet conversation. Swift footfalls signalled my brother-in-law's presence at the door before it was opened very slightly to reveal him looking almost shocked to see me. Who else he imagined would dare to disturb Dís' rest was quite beyond me.

"Thorin," he greeted breathlessly, swinging the door open to allow me entry, "My friend, we had not expected to see you."

I did not reply, entering and placing my tray upon the sideboard once more. I poured wine for them once more, darker and more potent this time, and handed both cups to my brother-in-law as he edged past me back to his wife. Upon the bed sat my sister, still beautifully dishevelled but now cradling the child to her bared breast. Raising her eyes to mine, she smiled wearily.

"We had not expected to see you, Brother," she informed me, echoing her husband's words, "We thought for certain that we would all be banished from your sights forever."

"And why, may I ask, would you think that?"

She smiled wider, craning her head to see her husband. Fitalí blushed fiercely at her beleaguering, staring determinedly at his infant son's face.

"I daresay we shall overcome the humiliation…given time," I informed her wryly, fighting my own grin. Retying her nightgown, Dís handed the child to his father before reaching out one hand to me. I took it, settling against the post at the foot of her bed and watching her intently.

"I am well, Brother," she murmured, answering my unasked question.

"And you have a son," I commented, squeezing her hand gently.

From his father's arms, the child gave a slight whine and squirmed a little before settling once more. I turned my eyes back to my sister, hearing her soft laughter – I had hardly realised I had looked away.

"And you a nephew."

I felt a sudden warmth flood my chest at her words. This time, I was quite certain the pride I took in that thought had little to nothing to do with successions or kingdoms.

"What colour are his eyes?"

I cursed my own lack of restraint – surely, I could have thought of a more intelligent response? Still, the question had been somewhat on my mind since I had first laid eyes upon him sleeping in his cot.

"Here," Fitalí said, barely even attempting to hide his smirk, "See for yourself."

I barely had time to protest before the tiny bundle of blankets and squirming limbs was thrust into my arms. I confess, I froze. Ridiculous response, I had held many children before – in our days of wandering there had always been  _someone's_  child burden to be carried or my sister to be shared between my brother and I – but this felt so very different, so unlike those times and not simply because  _this_  child was so much smaller than those others had been. His parents exchanged amused glances, my sister leaning forwards to adjust my hold with an exasperated,  _"Thorin…_ "

I looked down.

Blue. From within my tiny companion's face I saw my sister's eyes – my late brother's eyes – staring back at me.

I glanced back at his parents, feeling the slightest of smiles tugging at my lips. Dís had shifted to lie against her husband's chest, eyes closed and breathing steadily. As I watched, Fitalí leant down and pressed a kiss into her hair, a look of such complete adoration that I was almost angry with myself for disapproving of their union. It was nigh on scandalous to display such open affection before his lady's family – particularly given our differing ranks – but it was difficult to feel anything other than happiness for my younger sister on such a day as this. Looking up, he caught my gaze and coloured once more – for one whose ancestors were brave to the point of foolishness, he displayed a shocking, if rather amusing, tendency towards embarrassment where I was concerned.

"She is exhausted," he commented quietly, clearly uncomfortable with our silence. I was hardly faring any better; it was rare that we were forced to spend time together without my sister's calming presence.

"She is."

"Perhaps I ought to…" he began vaguely, gesturing at my happily gurgling nephew. Extricating himself from my sister, he lifted the infant from my arms and turned towards the cot. Relieved of such a fragile burden, I allowed myself to relax a little against the bedpost once more. As Fitalí lifted the child, it began to whine as though sensing he was about to be set down away from us.

"None of that," Fitalí chided softly, hushing him, "Your Mama is sleeping." As if understanding his words, the child quieted almost immediately. I wondered whether this obedience would last for it certainly had not in his mother. "Let us hope he remains so biddable." Fitalí returned to the bed, resuming his seat and hesitantly turning to me. "Join me?" He asked mildly, offering me my sister's untouched wine.

I took it, sipping absently. "What shall we drink to?"

"To Fíli, of course," he smiled, though there was something tight about it as he added, "To  _your_  heir."

We knocked our goblets together, very quietly, neither of us looking at the other. I had known since Erebor fell – certainly since Thrain's death - that I would not marry and therefore any heir I had would be of my sister and her husband's line but I do not think it had struck me until that point how very harsh that must have felt to Fitalí. Fitalí who was not of Durin's line, whose blood was considered by so many – myself included – so inferior to my own and whose son would lead my people when I was gone, never having been known as his father's son.

It was improper – I ought to have accepted his tribute and taken my leave – but whether by the wine's influence or simply by my sister's having beaten me down after all this time, I suddenly felt uncommonly warm towards him, fool though he was. He was young – younger even than Dís though only slightly – and still filled with the sort of childish self-possession and disregard for our heritage that my brother had always shown. Let him be bookish and foolishly kind-hearted instead of battle-scarred and proud, what cared I so long as he treated Dís and my heir well? He would drink to my heir as though he himself had no claim to him simply out of love and respect for my sister and myself.

"Fitalí," I murmured, watching him closely. He turned troubled dark eyes to me that widened as I charged my cup once more, gesturing for him to do the same. "To  _your_  son…Brother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! I wrote a story that wasn't sad! Wasn't exactly happy either...but the important thing is no one died or got lost or hurt or anything really. Savouring the moment...
> 
> Thoughts would be much appreciated, as always. By the way, I do intend to flesh out their father a bit later, he won't always be such a wet blanket I swear.


	4. Passing - Thorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Every stirring phrase with which I reassured my people at such times flew from my mind in the wake of my own name, uttered so quietly, so hopefully it was as though my presence at his side was all he could have hoped for in such a moment. I watched as his swimming eyes strained to focus on my face, his lips forming words though no further sound was forthcoming."
> 
> It's probably not the death you think it is. But there is a death (of a semi-OC) so...you know, don't read it if it's going to break you any more than anything else I've written.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to wearesuchstuff for beta-ing this for me and catching my silly grammar failures.
> 
> Personally, I say break out the tissues for this one. But you may disagree.
> 
> Thorin's POV

 

* * *

Even as Dwalin approached me, I knew what he would say.  The sorrow in my cousin’s eyes near made my knees buckle. 

“Take me to him?” 

Dwalin nodded shortly, reaching out a hand to grasp my shoulder.  That hand moved to my elbow as he guided me to where his elder brother and several others were kneeling on the frigid earth.

“Balin, does he breathe?”  I knelt beside the prone body, not daring to touch lest I caused any more pain.

“He needs a healer, Thorin,” Balin advised gently, one hand upon my shoulder.

I nodded (though the advice was hardly necessary), trailing my eyes briefly along my brother-in-law’s shuddering body.  Beyond him, I watched impassively as Dwalin heaved his axe overhead and brought it down upon the neck of Fitalí ’s last adversary who lay just as still, bloodied and shivering as he did.  The great beast’s last whimper was cut off with a dull thud, its bloodied jaws going slack. 

Fitalí  stirred beside me, a tortured whimper escaping him.  Hesitantly, I laid my fur atop him and placed one hand upon his face, jumping back in shock as he immediately turned unfocused eyes upon me.

“Thorin?”

I had no words.  Every stirring phrase with which I reassured my people at such times flew from my mind in the wake of my own name, uttered so quietly, so hopefully it was as though my presence at his side was all he could have hoped for in such a moment.  I watched as his swimming eyes strained to focus on my face, his lips forming words though no further sound was forthcoming.

“I am here, ‘Talí ,” I murmured eventually finding my voice, strained as it was.  Clearing my throat, I rallied.  “I am with you.”

The smallest of smiles – barely a shadow of his usual grin – found its way across his face and his eyes drifted shut.  My heart seized and I found myself calling his name, once, twice, three times before they opened once more.

“Were you afraid?” he asked me haltingly, grimacing as he managed to bring one hand to mine where it lay against his face.

I could not bring myself to lie to him, not now when every word we said could be his last.  I did not spare my cousins so much as a glance, though I could feel their eyes upon us.  “Of course I was,” I nodded, my throat tight.

“I wasn’t,” he quipped immediately, attempting to grin at me. 

“That is because you are a fool,” I informed him,  forcing myself to smile back at him even as his hand clenched around my own.

“I think you may be right,” he gasped eventually, once the agony subsided again.

I shrugged slightly, my jaw beginning to ache.  “I think so too.”

All around, I could hear the guttural cries of those whose life’s blood now stained the snow around us and the anguished wails from those whose charges had already passed on to Aüle’s Halls.  I glanced up to see several whom I did not know by name embracing their fallen kin, I could imagine the lies they would tell each other, the sweet nothings they would whisper to one another to ease their passing.  Not a single death had been in vain here today; our people in Ered Luin and those further south – even those in the Shire – would sleep safe in their beds, blissfully unaware of the carnage that would have befallen them had it not been for those warriors who had fought beside me today.  What was left of the White Wolves of the north would slink back into the frigid wasteland whence they came and would not dare cross our borders again. 

“Thorin?”

“Mm?”  I wondered, would it soothe him to know his wife and children were safe from these fiends?  Or would my mentioning them only serve to cause him agony of a different kind?  I could not bring myself to offer him empty platitudes – could not think of any to offer anyway – but to be at his side and silent was excruciating. 

He paused a moment and I glanced down in concern.  His face was openly distressed as he shifted slightly to see me better, gasping in pain as he did so.  “You _will_ take me home?” he asked eventually, dark eyes troubled.

“Of course,” I agreed softly, “Stay still now.”

“No, Thorin,” he bit out almost angrily, no longer looking at me “Take _me home_?”

I frowned.

“To _Dís_ ,” he elaborated.

“ _Yes_ , of cour – ”  I broke off, gazing around, for the first time that day seeing what he saw.  So many dead.  A fraction of those we had lost before in other battles, but he was not to know that.  “Of _course_ , I shall return you to Dís.”

I wished I could bring myself to say more, that we would burn our enemy but return our own to the earth as we had always done.  If – and I refused to think of it as anything other than a _possibility_ – Fitalí  died there with me, never having seen his wife or his beloved boys again, he would be returned to them that they could grieve properly, not thrown atop a pyre and burnt along with nameless corpses of our other losses. 

He watched me for a moment, seeming to weigh the truth of my statement before nodding and attempting some ill-advised twisting about once more. 

“Lie still, I say!”

He stilled immediately, though whether from my command or the pain that movement caused him I did not know.  It was not long before he spoke again, lying obediently still but his dark gaze upon me.

“Thorin?”

“ _Yes_ , what is it?”  I felt a wave of regret wash over me, the words having come out far harsher than I had intended them.  I closed my eyes, turning back to him from where I had been seeking signs of imminent aid.  “My apologies,” I muttered softly, “what is it you would say?”

Again, his mouth quirked into the softest of smiles, his dark eyes roving across my face.  “It does not hurt,” he whispered eventually, “Thorin, _brother,_ it does not pain me.”

For a moment, I could only stare at him disbelievingly.  It was he who was laying wounded at my feet and yet he sought to comfort _me_.  I had never heard such falsehoods in all my life.  Still, he had spoken with such conviction, his eyes _willing_ me to allow it that I found I _could_ _not_ call him out.  I nodded shortly.

“You will tell Dís that?”

“No,” I croaked with as much sternness as I could muster, “ _You_ shall tell Dís that.”

He smiled briefly before his hand tightened on mine again.  “It does not hurt,” he repeated breathlessly, eyes firmly closed.

“I know,” I assured him, wiping a few errant tears from his cheeks with my thumb.

Each laboured breath disturbed matted strands of copper hair that lay across his bloodied face.  This was no warrior.  Brave beyond measure certainly, and fierce – I could not have asked for a more loyal friend – but this was an artist, a craftsman.  He did not glory in battle, and I had been too blinded by my own pride to see it.  He had neither the patience nor the solemnity to sit on my counsel – his rare appearances there had been a test in forbearance for us all – but his training these past years had been more an indulgence – a distraction – than anything else. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I beg your pardon?” I asked, startled from my thoughts by his quiet apology.

“I’m sorry, Thorin,” he repeated, “I did so want…I swore I would protect you all.”

‘ _You all’._ I wanted to brush his words aside as delirious nonsense – protect Dís and their boys, certainly, but _me_ ? – but his eyes were clear.  “The fight is won, and all is well,” I assured him eventually; it was not _quite_ an untruth, “You have kept your word.”

He made a noncommittal noise in his throat – or perhaps it was a stifled moan, I couldn’t be sure – before saying, “ _This_ time.”

“And you will do so again the next,” I said with an air of finality, “If Dís ever lets you out again.” 

“You see now?” Dwalin interrupted gruffly, suddenly crouching beside Fitalí ’s other side and placing one hand on his uninjured shoulder, “Help is at hand.”

I looked up and felt a wave of relief wash over me as Oin and several others appeared on the hill bearing a stretcher between them.  Though it pained me to do so, I stood back from them with Dwalin as they set to work preserving what life was left in my fallen brother-in-law.  As they lifted him the sharp tang of dwarfish blood filled my senses, staining the snow covered earth crimson and filling my nostrils, the stench so strong I could near taste it and made all the worse for knowing to whom it belonged. 

“Will you go?” I asked Dwalin quietly as they prepared to bear Fitalí  home. 

“No,” he shook his head, turning to look at me at last, “There are things I would do here.”

 “You go on now,” said Balin, turning from Fitalí  to place hands upon my shoulders; his grip, even though my mail, was almost painful, “Thorin, you promised the laddie.”

I began to shake my head.  Whatever pain it caused me, my place was here.  I felt my jaw clench.  I _ought_ to have stayed and granted honour to those we had lost, given my blessings over their broken bodies that they might find peace in Aüle’s Halls and overseen the disposal of the foul creatures that had brought this sorrow upon my people but I found I could not, in good conscience, abandon my brother-in-law to endure his pain alone.

I sighed, gripping one of Balin’s forearms tightly before brushing his hands aside and taking up my position at Fitalí ’s side.  Heedless of his healer’s directions to be still, I was unsurprised as his eyes immediately sought my own, his fingers briefly touching my sleeve.

“My liege…”

* * *

 

The night had drawn in, its chill reaching us even in the deepest of our halls despite the fire blazing in the hearths.  Oin had insisted upon treating my wounds himself though they were few and insignificant, whilst Fitalí  had been born into his chambers and settled there before my sister was fetched from the nursery where she had been keeping watch over her little ones.  I took the time to look in on them myself ere I re-joined their parents.

“Are the White Wolves gone, Uncle?” Fíli  had asked timidly, arms wound protectively around his sleeping brother.

“Yes,” I assured him wearily, “You are quite safe.”

I had made to leave, my hand already upon the door knob before his voice sounded again. 

“Uncle,” he had begun, extricating himself from his brother and slipping from the bed to come to me, “Are you all right?”

“I am well enough,” I said after a pause, wondering what he had been told of the day’s events.  Dropping to one knee in front of him, I took his chilled hands in mine.  “And you?”

He took several tremulous breaths before saying quietly, “The healers came for Mama.  And Da did not come to wish us goodnight as he swore he would,” he peered at me from beneath sleep mussed hair, “He did come back, didn’t he?”

“Of course,” I nodded, feeling my throat constrict.  “But, you must understand, Fíli , he is – ”

A shadow fell across his face from behind me and I turned to find Balin standing over us, his face terribly grave.

“Lady Dís has sent for them,” he said gently, his gaze barely settling upon either of my sister-sons.

Though I had known from the moment I set eyes upon Fitalí  on the battlefield that this time would come, I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach at my cousins words.  Squeezing Fíli ’s hands once, I stood and gently pushed him aside as I fetched his brother.  He woke as I lifted him, though barely, his father’s eyes blinking at me heavily before he buried his face deep into my shoulder.  Breathing deeply, I nodded at Balin and he accompanied us to my brother-in-law’s chambers before excusing himself with a sad look towards the lot of us.

With a knock, I ushered Fíli  inside and placed Kíli  into his mother’s outstretched arms before taking my seat at the side of the room.  Strictly speaking, I, like Balin,  oughtn’t to have been present at all – having no familial ties to Fitalí  except through my sister – but I had long since come to terms with the fact that the bumbling, jester of a dwarf laying in the bed had become as dear to me as my own kin.  I did not intend to leave him to suffer alone as I had my own brother.

As he had with me, Fitalí  kept a weary smile in place for his wife and sons’ sakes, only faltering when Kíli ’s head and hands landed with a soft thump upon his wounded chest.  Alarmed, I leant across him and hoisted Kíli  up in one arm, settling him upon my lap where he could do no further harm.  He whined and struggled for all of a few seconds until his father raised his uninjured hand to chuck under his baby’s chin.  Giggling, Kíli  squirmed but grabbed hold of his father’s fingers and stuck them in his mouth, gnawing on them contentedly.  Had it not been for the tremulous laugh Fitalí  emitted as Kíli  did so I would have been inclined to remove them; as it was, his father watched him with such adoration I could scarce look at him.  Briefly, his eyes flicked to mine, his smile faltering slightly, for his sake, I summoned the barest of smiles to my own face though it fell from my lips the moment Fitalí turned away from me.  Turning back to Fíli  and my sister, he bade his elder son take his other hand.

Our traditions dictate that none but those for whom a blessing is intended should know its content – my own father’s blessings to myself and my brother had ever been a source of great curiosity to Dís until she too had received one (though it had been from myself and not Thrain) – and so I tried my best to ignore my brother-in-law’s softly spoken words to his son (though it was intended for both, Fíli  would likely be the only one to recall his father’s words).  From what I heard of it, it satisfied the formalities of the tradition as my own father’s had but, whether owing to his son’s young age, it was significantly softer and more tender than would generally be considered appropriate for such a formal custom.  After a time, I heard my heir’s hesitantly murmured “Thank you, Da”.  It was, strictly speaking, somewhat obscene that he should answer such an intrinsic rite of our culture in anything other than Khuzdul but given that the blessing would not usually be given until he came of age, I was certain it could be forgiven.

“I _think_ it is long past your bedtime,” Fitalí murmured eventually, his own eyes falling shut momentarily much to my sister’s (and my own) concern.

I stood at once, waiting whilst he bade Kíli a somewhat tearful good night before lifting my nephew again and rounding the bed to fetch Fíli too.  He resisted of course and, if there had been any doubt as to whether he understood the direness of the situation, they were eliminated by the way he ever so carefully climbed up his father’s bedside to wrap his little arms about Fitalí’s neck.  I hesitated, mindful of how quickly Fitalí’s strength was failing now but unwilling to put an end to so tender a moment between my sister’s husband and their small son.

“I shall…” I broke off and cleared my throat, “I shall wait for him outside.” 

Standing in the frigid hallway with my youngest nephew, I felt my eyes burning briefly.  Unable to dash the moisture from them with either hand, I brushed my face against my tiny companion’s baby soft hair, making him giggle and twist in my grasp.  Leaning back to observe him, I found him blinking back at me with his father’s wide, dark eyes.  My sister had been scarcely older than him when our mother had passed; he would have no memory whatsoever of the man lying in the room we had just left.  As that thought struck me, the door behind me opened and Dís ushered Fíli out, barely glancing at Kíli or me before ducking back into the room to her husband.

“Come, you ought to be in bed,” I told my nephews a tad gruffer than I had intended.

To my concern, Fíli did not protest but simply rubbed at his eyes before stretching up his arms to me.  Moved, for I had seldom indulged in carrying either of them – Fíli in particular – I began to reach out for him but he stepped out of my reach ere I could lift him.

“Wan’ Kíli,” he said tentatively, not looking at me.

“Fíli – ” I began only to be interrupted.

“I _want_ Kíli!”

On any other occasion, I might have been exasperated, angered even, by his impudence particularly as it was accompanied by a defiant stomp of his bare little foot, but as it was the situation was so pitiful, Fíli’s face so distraught, I could bear to neither deny him his brother nor scold him.  Bending down, I lowered Kíli into his elder brother’s arms, holding him until I was certain Fíli had him securely.  The moment he had him, Fíli’s face disappeared into his brother’s hair, his arms tightening around Kíli’s small body until the tot emitted a high-pitched whimper.  His grip loosened immediately, tear-filled eyes going wide at having hurt his baby brother.

“Come,” I repeated, hesitating briefly before running one hand down his golden hair and herding him back to their bedroom.

When I returned to my sister and her husband Dís had moved from her seat on the side of the bed to curl around Fitalí’s good side, his head resting on her collarbone and her hand in his hair.  For a moment I froze, taking in his closed eyes and pallor but my sister gestured me in, shaking her head very slightly.  I took up her vacated seat, summoning a tight smile as his eyes opened slightly as I sat down.

“Back again?”

“Would you rather I left you alone with Dís?” I asked in perfect earnest, wondering if they had only wanted me there as long as the children were there.

Fitalí smiled though it was Dís who answered for them both.

“No, stay, Brother,” she said, her hand carding through her husband’s silk-like hair, so different from our own.  “Stay with us – please.”

Casting her a soft glance, I nodded, relaxing slightly and taking a grip of Fitalí’s free hand.  We sat in silence for some time then, Dís and I listening to Fitalí’s harsh breaths, both of us tensing whenever his breaths seemed to become too slow.  Finally, he seemed to fall asleep, even the involuntary shudders beginning to even out and I had just resigned myself to the thought that he most likely would not wake when he murmured something unintelligible under his breath.

“What do you…make of Fíli now?” He asked haltingly when Dís and I bade him repeat himself, “Will he do?”

I did smile then, and genuinely.  Dís returned it albeit with her eyes overly bright in the dying firelight.  “He will more than _do_ ,” I told him, feigning annoyance and recalling a time not so long before when the three of us had sat in that same room and had much the same conversation only it had been my sister who lay exhausted and I had not felt the least bit _fraternal_ towards Fitalí.  He fell silent for a few more minutes though when he spoke it was clear he did not realise any time had passed.

“I am glad, because…” his eyes sought my sister’s, some unspoken agreement passing between them, “Thorin, I am giving them _both_ to you.”

I shook my head, “No.”  It was a ridiculous denial; his imminent passing was the very reason we were there so to deny his doing so was pointless.  Still, I could not change it now.  “They are _your_ sons, and my heirs.  They will always be those things.”

Though his eyes were wet, he smiled briefly, lips quirking on one side.  He shook his head very slightly. “No, Thorin, _no,”_ he said as firmly as he could when his every breath seemed to pain him, “Not only _heirs_.”

“ _Nephews_ , Brother,” Dís said quietly when I did not reply, “Not heirs.”

“Nephews,” I agreed, squeezing his hand tightly, “You…you needn’t worry for them.”

“I don’t,” he assured me.  “I truly don’t, Thorin.  They will be _great_ , I know it in my heart but…but I shall not know them.”

At his words, my sister suddenly released the slightest of sobs, her face buried in his neck.  The sound very near broke my heart.

“ _They_ will know _you_ , my love,” she whispered tearfully, her hand tightening on his.

He made no reply, his breathing slowing further still and eyes slipping closed again, his face angled into Dís’ throat, her head resting atop his.  When he had gone, I stood and laid my hand upon his forehead uttering the customary blessing for one who has recently passed.  I did not attempt to comfort my sister, knowing that I could not help her in this grief but made for the door intending to seek out Balin and have arrangements made.  Our dead are put to the earth as soon as possible, and there were many preparations to be completed ere he could be put to rest.  I did not shed tears for there would be time enough for that during our week long _adùruth_ and long after but as I near fled the room, my sister’s near silent sobs cutting me to my very core, I cursed Mahal that he should take yet more from my sister, from my people, from _me._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adùruth – the mourning period
> 
> Thoughts?


	5. Haven - Dis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I was glad to have gone, to have shared with them that secret haven where duty and burdens seemed to fade away to nothing but I would not go back. That place had been ours, and maybe one day it would become theirs but I would not – could not ever – allow it to become mine."
> 
> In which Fili learns to swim, and some things are best left as memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place somewhere between 2 and 5 years after Passing. 
> 
> Any comments would be very welcome since this is the only one of my WIP chapters I've actually managed to complete to any standard I'm even vaguely happy with but I'm still not sure how I feel about it.
> 
> Dis' POV.

 

* * *

It had been a long time since I had been able to wander through these woods, untroubled by their towering heights or the way they seemed to whisper amongst themselves in the soft breeze. My husband had laughed and teased when he had first heard of my trepidation; unlike myself and my kin, he had been raised amidst the oft snow-capped firs in the North of Ered Luin, had been taught to mark his way home by even the most insignificant differences in bark patterns on each tree. His teasing had turned to gentle amusement and we had spent much of our courtship here, with my arm linked firmly through his as he valiantly ignored the blundering footsteps of my cousins who followed us through the forest each day. His grin when we had, for once, been able to lose my would-be chaperone in the undergrowth and Thorin had had us trail back hours later to lead Balin home still brought a smile to my face more than a decade after it had happened. I could lead my boys along these paths blindfolded now but still I wandered slowly, relishing the time I could spend with them away from duty and court just as I had with their father.

"Mama!" I looked up at my eldest's excited shout, smiling as he came sprinting back to take my hand and drag me along with him. "We found another! It's nearly hidden, but Kíli and I found it anyway!"

As we neared the tree – a narrow, somewhat unsteady looking fir whose branches began barely a head above me – Fíli released me and instead lifted his brother in his arms so that Kíli could paw clumsily at the trunk.

"Found it!" Kíli announced proudly as I joined them. I congratulated them both, smiling as I raised my hand to their discovery; the painstakingly etched rune was achingly familiar under my fingers, it's creator as dear to me as our children at my side.

"How many are there, Mama?" Fíli asked, placing his brother down and taking his hand as we set off again. Kíli pulled at our hands as we led him between us, face scrunched up as he tried to pull free.

"I don't know, my love," I told him lightly, though I knew precisely how many there were and upon exactly which trees they would be found, "Have you been counting?"

"Seven so far," he answered dutifully, already scanning the tree trunks for the next marker.

"Mama? Where do they go to?"

"It's a surprise," I told Kíli, watching his eyes widen with excitement.

We walked a few more paces while Kíli digested that information until he suddenly renewed his escape efforts, twisting and pulling at our hands until –

"OW!" Fíli shrieked, withdrawing his hand as if burned and scowling at his younger brother. "Mama! Look!" he demanded tearfully, coming to my other side and thrusting his hand up at me.

Kneeling, I released my hold on Kíli with a firm, "Stay there," before taking Fíli's hand in mine. As I had expected, two lines of pink marks were visible on his thumb where my younger son's teeth had closed around it. Shooting an annoyed look at his brother, Fíli sniffed as I raised his hand to my mouth. "There," I said, pressing my lips against the rapidly fading marks, "That's better now, isn't it?"

"Uh huh," Fíli whimpered, still sniffling and dragging his sleeve across his already dry eyes. "Mama, Kíli  _bit_ me. It really,  _really_  hurt.""

"I know it did," I told him, trying not to smile at his dramatics, "But it's better now, isn't it?"

He hesitated a moment, still glaring resentfully at his brother but nodded eventually, his lower lip jutting out slightly.

"Why don't you go and find me the next sign?" I suggested, petting his hair. He sped off immediately, the incident all but forgotten. "Kíli," I said sternly, drawing out his name as my younger son began to edge off after his brother. "You do  _not_ bite. I will not have my son running around  _biting_  people like a nasty little goblin boy."

Kíli gazed at me tearfully from behind curtains of dark waves, the very picture of contriteness. His whispered, "'m sorry, Mama," followed by a soft sniffle would have tugged at my heart had it not been for the frequency at which I was having to reprimand him for this behaviour recently. Holding both of his hands in one of mine, I raised his chin so that I could look into his face properly.

"I have told you this. Your Uncle has told you this. Do. Not. Bite." He sniffed again, but nodded. I stood and lifted him into my arms and letting him bury his face against my neck. "Any more naughtiness and we shall go home," I informed him, and this time my resolve did wobble as he released a quiet sob. I had no intention of turning back but he, of course, had no way of knowing that. "You are going to apologise to your brother and behave yourself."

"Yes, Mama," he said quietly as I set him down again near my elder son. I nudged Kíli and he eventually offered an apology, his eyes downcast. Fíli shrugged, the incident readily forgiven despite his earlier fuss and grinning at me, took off again through the trees with his brother in tow.

* * *

"Oh," I exclaimed at last, panting slightly as we reached the top of the hill, "We've found it at last, my boys!"

In my arms, Kíli wriggled to be set free that he could once more run wild with his brother. In the gulley below us, down a narrow, rocky path that all but disappeared in places lay the lake I had been looking for. As wide and calm as I had remembered it, it glittered deepest turquoise in the near midday sun. With a whoop, Fíli took off down the path before I had the time to stop him, and was at the water's edge before Kíli and I were even halfway down. As excited as I had been to bring them to this special place, I admit I had underestimated the care it would take to carry my suddenly-struck-lame youngest down the path. We made it eventually to the shale at the lakeside before Kíli overcame his sudden clinginess in favour of near throwing himself out of my arms to explore this wondrous new place I had brought them to. Laughing, I set him down and joined Fíli at the very edge of the water.

"It's very cold, Mama," he informed me, peering at me from behind golden curls. I tested it, removing my sandals and dipping my toes in. ' _Very cold'_  Fíli had said; in fact, the water was perhaps a fraction below  _warm_. Their father and I had swum here many times when the water left us near raw from cold, I would not force them to swim, but I certainly would not be put off by 'very cold'.

"It'll feel warmer once you're in," I assured him, slipping off his sandals and setting them behind us. As I lifted his tunic over his head and placed that down as well, I paused, biting my lip slightly – was I perhaps being over-eager? Were they  _both_ too young for this? "You told me you  _wanted_ to swim," I reminded him gently.

"I do!" he protested immediately, looking positively heartbroken.

"Well, then…?"

He swallowed, staring fearfully at the gently lapping water at his feet as if it would suddenly swell up and drown him where he stood. "Is it  _very_  deep?" he asked eventually, his fingers straying to his mouth as he contemplated it.

"Only in the very middle," I answered honestly. I watched him for a moment, trying to quell the growing disappointment in my heart. I had  _so_ wanted to share this with them, to teach them to swim here as their father had taught me. Perhaps sensing my sadness, Fíli suddenly brightened.

"Can we eat first? I'll learn better if I eat!"

Smiling, I nodded and began gathering our discarded clothing to put further up the shore. We ate slowly, Kíli chattering away enough for all of us while Fíli watched the water dubiously, clearly still uncertain about going in. Eventually, as I packed away the remains of our luncheon, Fíli spoke again.

"Did Da swim?"

"Of course," I smiled, smoothing back the hair from his face, "Who did you suppose taught me? Your Uncle Thorin? Balin, perhaps?"

He grinned briefly, ducking his head before saying quietly, "Uncle Thorin says dwarves don't need to swim."

"Uncle Thorin says many things," I said dismissively, "Your father was a dwarf, and your father swam. Your uncle does not  _need_ to know how to swim  _or_ how to climb trees but your father taught him anyway. He does not  _need_ to –" I broke off, seeing Fíli's slightly shocked expression. I smiled again. "You never know when you  _will_  have a need of these things, my love, your uncle does not know everything, he cannot see all ends. You never know…you might enjoy it."

He eyed me dubiously, absentmindedly chewing his fingernails until I reached out and stopped him. Letting him think for a moment, I turned my attention to my youngest who lay curled up in my lap. Drowsy after the trek out here, full of good food and warmed by the summer sun, Kíli had long since lost his battle with sleep.

"Mama?" Fíli said quietly after a while, "Are you…are you going to come with me?"

"Of course, I am!"

With that, I gently lifted Kíli to lie atop our folded discarded clothes where he would be out of harm's way whichever way he rolled and then slowly led Fíli back down to the waterside. Paddling for a while, it was some time before Fíli would allow himself to be led in any further into the water than knee level. Letting him splash, I slowly made my way further out until the water reached just below my hips before I called him to me.

"You're too far out!" he whined when he saw me, taking a few steps towards me before stopping. Holding my arms out to him, I waited. Suddenly, his face scrunched up and arms flailing, he leapt at me, almost knocking me over. Holding him tightly, I walked backwards a little further until he would have to swim or at least tread water to stay afloat. I pried him off me, murmuring encouragement to him as he gradually grew accustomed to the peculiar weightlessness of himself. After that it did not take much – a hand under his belly to keep him afloat as he kicked his little legs wildly and a ready embrace when he sank regardless or swallowed too much water – by mid-afternoon, my eldest was swimming circles around me where I stood and applauded him…perhaps 'swimming' was too kind a word, truthfully, he was little more than a writhing splash of white water and furiously flailing limbs. I felt my heart swell with pride every time he paused, treading water and beaming at me before setting off again.

"Mama?" As one, we turned our heads back towards the shore to where my youngest was trailing down to the waterside, rubbing sleep from his eyes with one small fist.

"Kíli! Come and play!" Fíli yelled at once, splashing furiously in his efforts to return to his brother. I joined them in the shallows, reaching out one hand to where Fíli was desperately trying to tempt Kíli in to the water. "It's not even cold, just wet. You'll enjoy it, I promise," he was saying, one hand on Kíli's shoulder as he led him closer. Kíli wrinkled his nose, eyeing the water as dubiously as his brother had earlier.

"Don't like it!" Kíli scowled almost the second his toes touched the water. Fíli huffed disappointedly, pouting tremendously at his little brother who remained entirely unmoved, his dark brows knit in a fearful scowl. "Nope, nope, nope," he told Fíli in a childishly stern voice, shaking his head determinedly.

"Mama, I want to  _swim_!" Fíli whined quietly, turning his sad gaze upon me. On reflection, perhaps I had been rather over ambitious to believe I could get  _both_ of them into the water today or that Fíli would be content to swim without his brother joining him.

"Why so scared, my Kíli? Hm?" I said gently, sitting beside my youngest and lifting him to sit on my crossed legs where the water just barely touched his toes. Fíli fidgeted beside us for a moment then stood and wandered a little further in, stomping and splashing around whilst throwing sly little looks towards his brother.

"Not scared. Don't  _like_ it."

I tried not to smile; where Fíli's fears could be assuaged by making light of them, Kíli's seemed to only be fixed by tackling the issue head on – whether he admitted his fears or not. "You haven't tried it yet, my love," spoken with my nose in his hair, lips just brushing his ear.

Kíli paused before turning to blink enormous dark eyes at me, "Not  _going_ to like it, Mama," he informed me seriously.

"Well, let us see."

Thinking carefully – for Kíli was too small for my 'sink or swim' tactics – I unfurled my legs and sat him between my knees on the smooth pebbles. As the lapping water rose to cover his legs, he stared at me, open-mouthed. Experimentally, he kicked his legs a little before emitting a high pitched giggle, wriggling away from me to turn on to all fours. Seemingly all the better to splash me with. Again and again his antics doused my face in cool water, only pausing when his brother returned to us to join in.

Unlike my eldest, Kíli did not seem to take to the water. He quickly shed his grumpiness in favour of playing in the shallows with us both but when Fíli and I gently encouraged him to attempt swimming he immediately retreated, wet hair flying every which way as he shook his little head. Fíli eventually tired of trying to tempt his baby brother further in and returned to his swimming practice and soon Kíli began to tire of the water altogether.

* * *

"Thank you, Kíli," I smiled for the umpteenth time as Kíli scampered back to place yet another 'special' rock into my hands. He beamed at me, inordinately proud of himself, before hurrying off to scour the shore for more keepsakes. Fíli it seemed had finally tired himself out and now lay floating aimlessly on his back (occasionally coming up spluttering as he suddenly dipped below the water). I watched them both for a moment, leaning back in the afternoon sunlight and letting it warm me from head to toe.

Though this place would forever be my husband's place to me and although I felt his absence more keenly here than anywhere else, the day had far surpassed my expectations. When my husband had passed on, I had thought I would never face coming back here – with or without our children – and yet, though I had been worried it would not be the place I remembered, I had always known that I would eventually share this…sanctuary with our boys. My beloved Talí would have expected no less of me. Today had, in truth, been the most blissfully free and happy day I had experienced in months, maybe even years. But inevitably such bliss could only last so long before –

"Shirking duty as usual, Sister?"

I felt a badly suppressed smile tugging at my lips. "I have been led astray, my Lord," I said seriously, refusing to open my eyes just yet, "These rapscallions simply would not leave me be until I brought them here."

"A likely story," my elder brother scoffed from somewhere above my head. Sighing, I opened my eyes to see him perched upon an outcrop and leaning over me; had he not been my brother, or indeed, had he still been in possession of both of his eyebrows, I might have found his lurking threatening. Perhaps seeing my shocked concern, he shook his head and quickly dropped from his perch to sit beside me. "Dwalin became a little…overzealous with the bellows," he informed me, cutting short my appalled inquiry.

"You look ridiculous," I said honestly, looking him over from his frazzled hairline to his burnt forearms. I began to wonder how much burn salve I had left in my cupboards and whether I would need to buy more.

"I am perfectly well," he scowled, turning to watch my sons who had yet to notice his presence.

"Fíli has been swimming," I reported, watching him quirk an eyebrow doubtfully as my eldest son gave a shout and disappeared beneath the water for a few seconds. "You ought to join him; it would save you trailing this filth through my halls later."

Thorin hesitated and for a moment, I thought he would refuse – one could never be sure what my brother would feel was beneath him on any given day – but with a sigh, he heaved himself to his feet and started on down to the water, shedding his layers as he went. I laughed aloud as he 'crept' up behind my youngest, grabbing him under his armpits and swinging him around with a roar. Kíli shrieked in shocked delight, wriggling and twisting about as Thorin tossed him up into the air and caught him once more.

"And what have you been doing, hm?" I could hear Thorin asking over Kíli's giggles, "Are you now half dwarf, half fish like your brother?"

Kíli shook his head wildly, reaching out for my brother's braids and seeming entirely unperturbed by the singed and blackened appearance. "Don't like it," Kíli confided seriously, eyes wide.

I barely resisted the urge to tut as I passed them, beckoning Fíli over with my hand.

"Don't like it?" Thorin repeated. Kíli shook his head, bottom lip jutting out. "Dear me, that is unfortunate."

"That's all right though, isn't it, Uncle?" Fíli asked breathlessly, standing dripping at my side. "Dwarves don't need to swim."

I watched a flicker of recognition cross my brother's face as his words were quoted back to him. "No," he said slowly, carefully, "They don't  _need_ to…"

"But it is great fun, isn't it, love?" I finished, ruffling Fíli's hair.

"Yes!" he said immediately.

"Here, hold  _this_ ," Thorin suddenly said, handing Kíli to me before plunging headfirst into the water, Fíli following him excitedly. Kíli 'helped' me gather our things and stood obediently still while I redressed us both, after all,  _one_ of us needed to look presentable since I clearly could no longer trust my brother to do so. And finally, when my eldest son and my brother (now thankfully soot-free) emerged from the water, shaking water from their hair as they came, we began our ascent back up the rocky path.

We had not climbed further than perhaps half way up when Kíli – who had  _insisted_  he wanted to walk up by himself – plopped himself down in the middle of the path behind us, a few tell-tale sniffles emerging from behind curtains of dark hair. Giving me a wry, long-suffering look, Thorin reached out and took my pack from me, shouldering it easily and continuing on as I went to retrieve my little one. When I eventually caught up with them again – for if walking down whilst carrying my youngest had been difficult, it was nothing compared with trying to climb back up – Thorin was waiting patiently at the top of the hill, bag in one hand and Fíli clinging to the other, face buried sleepily in his side.

"Did we keep you waiting?" I asked with my brows raised as I reached them, more than a little annoyed at having been left to struggle up with Kíli hanging like a dead weight around my neck.

"No," Thorin said mildly, either entirely unaware or uncaring of my ire. Taking in my dishevelled appearance and increasingly exasperated face, he added, "Did you struggle?"

For all his stratagems and knowledge, I wonder how my brother can be so obtuse. Wordlessly, I stared at his bewildered expression before turning to my eldest son.

"Shall we rest before we go on?" I asked him, expecting a grudging agreement; he had certainly not gone up the path as quickly as he had gone down it earlier but he was surely exhausted from the climb. To my surprise, he simply shrugged, glancing briefly at my brother.

"'m not tired, Mama," he said boldly, even as my name was lost in an enormous yawn that turned into a surprised sort of yelp as my brother hoisted him up into his arms.

"Ah, the energy of youth," Thorin said wryly, shaking his head as Fíli, far from protesting, burrowed his face into his uncle's neck and sighed contentedly. Slinging my bag up onto his shoulder once more, my elder brother set off again knowing that I would follow. We walked in silence for a few minutes until I grew uncomfortable with feeling my brother's eyes on me and bade him find his tongue or lose it. He did smile, briefly.

"It is a long time since I have had to come and fetch you from that place," he said quietly, eyes roaming the woods around us but never settling upon me.

"Yes, it is."

"A decade, certainly."

It had not been that long. It  _could_ not be that long. I shook my head, not trusting my own voice. But of course, Thorin thought only of when hepersonally had ventured out to fetch me. He did not – or rather could not – think of the times my husband and I had spent out here, only wandering home when darkness fell and our warm hearth beckoned.

"I was glad," Thorin murmured when I did not reply, "to be informed you had gone there today."

"You never were  _before_."

I blinked. The bitterness, the  _anger_ I had felt at my brother's no doubt heartfelt words, dissipated as quickly as it had come. To his credit – and my own shame, for my sharp words must have hurt him – though his entire body stiffened, his chin raising slightly as he eyed me without turning, Thorin made no comment. The silence we lapsed into now was not a comfortable one.

"I  _told_ him not to do this," Thorin said suddenly, scowling at one of the carefully etched rune that my sons had been so thrilled at finding earlier on.

"They were for  _your_ benefit," I muttered, feeling the need to defend my beloved but not wanting to further spoil what had been a truly lovely day by quarrelling, "Well,  _ours._ "

Beside me, Thorin grunted noncommittally, pausing and shifting Fíli from one arm to the other before continuing.

"Uncle Thorin?" Drowsily, Fíli sat up, wiping sleep from his eyes. "Kíli  _bit_ me."

Thorin turned startled eyes upon my youngest who still lay sleeping soundly against my shoulder.

"Not  _now_."

I vow Fíli sounded every bit as exasperated at his uncle as I had earlier felt.

"Did he?" Thorin intoned sternly, though his frown was entirely lost upon my obliviously slumbering youngest. I shook my head slightly against Kíli's – a silent reassurance that the matter was not serious and no action was required upon my brother's part.

"Mmhm," Fíli whimpered piteously nonetheless, gazing wide-eyed at his uncle. I had to suppress a smile, as I knew precisely what would happen next; I was not disappointed. "It hurts."

Thorin took up Fíli's proffered hand, examining the smooth and entirely unblemished skin.

"I've no doubt," said with a sidelong glance at me, "Younger sibs have such sharp teeth."

Pouting, Fíli nodded seriously before raising his hand higher towards my brother's face; adding a few sniffles for good measure before saying simply, "Kiss?"

Letting loose another long-suffering sigh that spoke more of his indulgence than his disapproval, my brother did so, raising my son's hand to his lips and pressing briefly, smirking at the immediate grin that lit up Fíli's face as Thorin's beard tickled his hand.

"Better?" I asked Fíli knowingly and watching him nod happily before settling back in against Thorin's shoulder.

"Uncle?" Fíli began again a few minutes later.

"Yes?"

Fíli hesitated a fraction before saying quickly, "Do I still have to train tomorrow?"

"Yes, Fíli," both my brother and I said immediately. A heartbeat, then –

"What if my hand still hurts?"

" _If_ your brother's teeth have left you incapable of wielding a sword," Thorin began, sharing my grin, "then you may leave off training in the morning, but I shall be  _having words_  with your brother."

Fíli squirmed, stuck between the desire to stay at home and play (and prolong his uncle's affection in response to his 'wounding'), and his fierce desire to protect his younger brother from any unjust punishment. Like myself, Thorin seemed to hold his breath, intrigued as to which outcome our eldest little one would choose.

Fíli huffed before muttering, "I suppose it isn't  _that_ bad."

"Are you quite certain?" I asked mildly.

"It'll be better by training, Mama," Fíli said at last, blinking sleepily against the firelight flickering into the night from behind shutters on the first houses of our town.

"I shall warn your teacher that you are injured," Thorin murmured, shaking his head as Fíli 'hmmed' happily and began to drop off again. Glancing at me several times before speaking, Thorin began quietly, "It must have been very hard for you."

"Kíli only bit Fíli, and he doesn't bite  _that_ hard," I replied confidently, deliberately misunderstanding him.

"Dís."

I sighed harshly, annoyed at my brother's persistence when, for once, I should have liked to keep my thoughts to myself.

"It was fine – good, even – it was just as I remembered it."

"You shall have to go back there very soon," Thorin prompted quietly, though I could sense his resolve beginning to crumble under my refusal to be drawn in.

"No," I stated tightly, shaking my head, "We shan't go back…I shan't."

"Dís…," he let his protest trail off and I could feel his intense gaze upon me.

"No."

How could I return there? To a place that had only ever belonged – in my own mind and that of my brother at least – to my husband and me? That would have been our place – his and mine and our children's – but it could never be  _our_ place without him. I was glad to have gone, to have shared with them that secret haven where duty and burdens seemed to fade away to nothing but I would not go back. That place had been  _ours,_  and maybe one day it would become one of theirs but I would not – could not  _ever_ – allow it to become _mine._

 


	6. Spare Part I - Tali

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awaiting the arrival of a baby sibling for Fili, Thorin and 'Tali are out and about but harsh words and the harsh realities of being married to the King's sister lead to upset for 'Tali.
> 
> "Erebor had not been my home; I had never seen its splendour let alone its ruin; it was not my place to tell Thorin or his kin to stop grieving for the life they had known or for the people they had lost."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fitali's POV. (Their father...)

 

* * *

"Thorin!" I called over my shoulder, unsheathing what was perhaps the mightiest sword I had ever seen. "Thorin, look at  _this_!"

I felt him at my side and turned, sheathing the sword and handing it to him. Even to my somewhat untrained eyes, it wasa good sword, intricately engraved with swirling patterns that intertwined right up to the hilt; even the scabbard was finer than any I had seen before. I was quite certain it had not been forged here or in Ered Luin – it was finest steel inlayed with gold and I defied Thorin to find a finer weapon within a thousand leagues of here. He looked it over appraisingly before raising grudgingly approving eyes to mine.

"It is exceptional," he commented, sounding very surprised and gesturing its seller over to enquire after its origins.

Casting cold, sharp eyes over us and then down at my son, the man leant over as though imparting some great secret, beckoning us forward. "It is very fine, very fine indeed," he whispered, taking the sword and demonstrating its almost perfect balance, "forged in the East where the mountains are  _rich_  with ore."

Thorin and I exchanged glances at the man's thinly veiled slight but thankfully, my brother-in-law made no retort except to take it back and test its weigh himself, feigning a jabs and such.

"Does it come from E'bor?" my young son piped up, craning his neck until I lifted him to see properly. Seeing him staring, Thorin stopped his exercises and held it still for Fíli to see (though I was glad to see he kept it  _just_ out of my son's reach – I did not like to think of the injury my son could do himself otherwise).

"I highly doubt it," Thorin informed him dryly, though he looked to the haggard merchant for confirmation.

"It  _is_  forged by your kind, in the Iron Hills but it has been wielded by  _elves_ in Mirkwood. You see these markings? They are theirs," he said, now addressing Fíli as though telling him a fantastical story. I winced for him; he was not to know that little else would put an end to his potential sale quicker than the knowledge that the sword had once belonged to Thranduil's people. Beside me, as I could have predicted he might, Thorin cursed in Khuzdul and thrust the weapon back at its master before striding away without another word. I smiled apologetically at the crestfallen human but hurried after Thorin as the man's gaze turned dark and fixed on my son and me. Thorin and my wife's people lived and worked among the Dunlendings for years before settling in Ered Luin and, though they had always been a savage lot, they seemed more hostile than ever to us dwarves now that  _they_  travelled to  _us_ with their wares. Even within Ered Luin, it did not do to linger too long amongst the Dunlendings by oneself – they had a cold, almost hungry look about them that I had never liked even as a child.

We found Thorin eventually, staring blindly at a stall of intricately made jewellery and clasps. The wizened old dwarf sat behind it was dozing on and off, silver bearded chin nodding off his chest every so often. Beside him, I saw what could only be his daughter casting appreciative glances towards my brother-in-law. Grinning, I sidled up beside Thorin and asked (perhaps a little loudly) if he had seen anything he liked the look of; though Thorin was completely oblivious, I did not miss the way the young maid perked up, smoothing her admittedly impressive ebony beard.

"Would you like to see anything…closer?" she asked him, blinking large brown eyes at him. Though the Blacklocks are skilled in many arts – drawing, jewellery and all manner of other artistries – the art of subtlety is one that often eludes us but I had thought that I, with my Firebeard blood as well, was the worst of us. Clearly, I had been wrong. I looked sidelong at my brother-in-law, feeling amusement tugging at my lips again. Far from the troubled, furious look he had worn when we arrived, he now looked frankly alarmed.

I felt as if I would burst from the effort to keep from laughing as I saw my unflappably superior brother-in-law brought down to a stuttering fool by a flirtatious young maid who either did not know, or had no respect for who he was. Still, the decorations did look quite fine. My wife had often despaired of ever finding a suitable woman for her brother and, though I understood why she wanted to see him settled and – Mahal forbid –  _happy_ as we were, Thorin had said (repeatedly) that he was unsuited to it and therefore did not wish that for himself. I could not help but feel that that should be reason enough for Dís. All the same, it had to be said, it was highly entertaining watching him attempt to negotiate such instances as this.

"Here," I said loudly, thrusting a slightly protesting Fíli into his arms and removing several small trinkets from where my errant son had secreted them in his tunic, "Hold  _this_."

Thorin looked immensely relieved, lifting Fíli and making a show of being entirely immersed in scolding him soundly for his sticky-fingered antics. I turned my attention to the table of jewellery; there were some  _very_ beautiful things. Though I was by my heritage a somewhat gifted jeweller I could not have created half the things this talented family had done. I looked over several items, wondering what I might take back for Dís who was now too heavily with child to have accompanied us. I did not like to leave her alone in such a state but it had been many moons now since I had ventured this far from Thorin's Halls into the south of Ered Luin. The market seemed to have doubled; certainly, there were a good deal more Dunlending men attempting to sell their wares than when I had last visited though that was hardly unexpected; from what Dwalin and his patrol had reported when last they ventured across Tharbad, the tribes of men who lived there were hardly prospering. If it were not for the trade it brought to our gates, I would have pitied them.

When I eventually left the stall – leaving the young lady with a fair amount of coin as well as my sworn oath that I would bring my 'friend' to see her again – my son and his uncle were again nowhere to be seen amongst the crowd of dwarves and men. I was not concerned, Fíli was as safe with his uncle as he was with me and was thus far too timid a boy to run off as I would have at his age. I made my way through the market, lingering here and there to peruse dog-eared books of Shire cooking or heavy-bound genealogy tomes and pausing every so often to pass the time of day with the traders. I was not so well known as Thorin of course, nor even as my dear wife but I had lived here far longer than they had so there were, of course, those with whom I was distant kin or at least familiar but they were not and I did not speak with them as often now as perhaps I ought. I was flicking through a book and carrying on a pleasant chat with a lass I had a vague feeling might be a distant cousin of my late mother's when I felt a presence at my side.

"Hullo!" I grinned, turning to see Thorin reading over my shoulder, "I've found you at last then."

"It was hardly _I_  who needed finding," Thorin said coolly, " _You_  are more liable to slip away than the boy."

Bidding my lady companion goodbye, I turned and raised my brows disbelievingly at him.

"What is it then," he began, taking the book from my hands and turning to the front, "that drew your attention so?" He glanced back at me, scowling disapprovingly. "Children's tales – and from M _en_  at that."

"I have a child, soon I shall have two," I shrugged, leaning down to lift Fíli from where he was bouncing excitedly between the two of us, "And all children need to be told stories – as many as possible."

"Send him to Balin then," Thorin snapped, "You would ne'er see him again for all the tales  _he_ would tell – and they would be considerably more suitable. He ought to learn his own lore before that of others."

I sighed. Truthfully, I had had no intention of buying the book in question until Thorin had made his disapproval known. But Fíli was  _my_  son, I would read him whatever tales I pleased and Thorin would just have to lump it – I briefly wished there had been some Elvish tome there I could have bought just to prove a point. Still, it ' _would not do'_  to make a spectacle of us arguing in the street over something as trivial as what was and was not appropriate as a story for my son. Besides which, I did not intend to do anything to infuriate Thorin – Dís would want him by her side when our next child arrived and it was not unheard of for my brother to withdraw entirely from us for days after a disagreement.

"I  _want_  to hear their stories. Do Men tell good tales, Da?" Fíli asked around his fingers – a long-forgotten habit he seemed to have been indulging in more and more recently.

"No better than your father." I was not certain whether it had been a compliment or not, given Thorin's opinion of any race other than our own. "And stop  _that_ ," Thorin said, suddenly frowning and reaching out to draw Fíli's hand firmly down and away from his mouth.

"They tell  _different_  stories, Fíli," I told him, holding both of his hands in one of mine to prevent them creeping back to his mouth, "But your Uncle is right, there are  _plenty_  of stories to be heard before theirs."

Fíli looked crestfallen and I considered buying the cursed thing anyway but his look brightened as he looked out across the bustling marketplace, wriggling to be set free. Following his line of sight, I smiled.

"Would you like to visit the toy sellers, Fíli?"

My son's wriggling intensified and he turned his earnest little face to me, nodding vigorously. I set him down, keeping a hold on his hand lest he run off elsewhere – not that he would be in any real danger from our own people but these Men were something different entirely. I would not trust them with my least-favoured hound, let alone my precious little boy.

"Will you be joining us," I asked, turning to Thorin, "Or are such things beneath you,  _my lord_?"

He glared at me but fell in to step with me anyway as we made our way through the crowd.

"It is not a matter of station!" he muttered as we walked, "It is a matter of your son –  _my heir_  – caring more for places he has never seen and a race that is  _nothing_  to do with him before his own lineage!"

I snorted. This was ridiculous. Thorin seemed to be labouring under the misapprehension that Fíli's naturally wanting to hear every childishly fantastical tale he could even those by other races equated to my son's imminent abdication.

"It was just a book, Thorin," I reminded him shortly, frustrated that he was ruining a perfectly nice outing, "a silly book of stories just like any other."

"We have our  _own_  tales to tell."

"Yes," I muttered, "of dragon-guarded gold and wandering kings lost in battle." Even as I said the words, I knew I had gone too far.

Erebor had not been my home; I had never seen its splendour let alone its ruin; it was not my place to tell Thorin or his kin to stop grieving for the life they had known or for the people they had lost. Thorin stopped dead beside me and even my son seemed to know I had said something awful, his hand tightened in mine and, glancing down, I could see him gazing timidly up at his uncle. "Thorin…" I began, unsure what to say. He stared at me – I had expected him to be furious, violent even but instead, he looked almost…hurt – for once seeming lost for words. He drew himself up and I instinctively braced myself – not that he and I would ever truly harm one another, our mutual love and respect for my dear wife prevented that – but Fíli suddenly gave a small whimper as we sized up. Thorin's gaze dropped briefly to my son who was clinging fearfully to my leg; raising his eyes again Thorin glared.

"I have business elsewhere," he said stiffly, his entire demeanour exuding barely contained fury, "The guard will escort you back whenever you are ready but do not linger – my sister will want the boy back by nightfall."

I thought to apologise but he was already turning from us and striding away, the crowd parting for him as he passed – a furious Thorin Oakenshield was something with which none would argue. I felt the flush creeping up my neck as I felt all eyes turn to me; I dropped to a crouch before my son.

"Is Uncle angwy?" he asked tearfully, fingers in his mouth once more.

"Extremely," I told him honestly, drawing his hand away, "But not at you."

He eyed me doubtfully, brows creased.

"Shall we go and look at the toys now?"

He shrugged, lip trembling slightly.

"Would you like me to carry you?"

He hesitated a fraction of a second before wrapping his arms around my neck and waiting for me to pick him up. Settling him on my hip, I made for the best stall I could think of. I had passed it earlier and made a promise to myself that I would take both Fíli and my new child, when he was born, to see the cheerful young dwarf that sold marvellous little figures such as I had never seen – far better than any that I could create, certainly. Fíli remained silent as we walked, despite my best attempts to engage him in conversation; I could feel my shirt getting damp beneath his face. I cursed both his uncle and myself; he had been so excited when we had left – at dawn no less – to be accompanying us both here, chattering non-stop all the way here and now it seemed it was all I could do to get a single word out of him.

"Back so soon?" Inquired the fellow behind the stall, standing and grinning as I approached. "I knew you wouldn't keep away," he sighed, feigning melancholy, "There are few who can."

"My son needs a gift for someone," I informed him, bouncing Fíli on my hip, "he is soon to have a new sib."

"Ah, no wonder he seems so sad!" He exclaimed, clapping his hands together and leaning down to whisper conspiratorially to Fíli, "Little brothers are  _ghastly_  things – they never play fair in fights and they eat  _all_  your food."

At Fíli's uncertain look, the man stepped back and gestured pointedly at a decidedly rotund chap with flaming red hair sat close by. Fíli turned a look of wide-eyed betrayal upon me, as though he could not believe I was willing to inflict such a thing upon him.

"He is teasing you, Fíli," I laughed, unable to let the man go on any longer when my son seemed so distressed, "Do not look so horrified!"

"I am that," the merchant said, reaching out and ruffling my son's light hair, "Ah brothers, they're a wonderful thing – you're never alone when you have a brother, my lad." He looked thoughtful for a moment before adding, "Course, you're  _never_   _alone_ either."

I laughed again, enjoying the fellow's teasing humour and the way my son seemed to have completely forgotten my falling out with his uncle earlier. He did not understand what the man was implying but that hardly mattered, he was clearly willing to wait patiently for us to stop our 'grown up talk' and return to him.

"Now then," my new friend said in mock seriousness, folding his arms and gazing appraisingly at Fíli, "What would you be after Master…?"

"Fíli, son of Dís, daughter of Thrain – Thror's son," Fíli dutifully recited before adding in wide-eyed solemnity "Thror was King of E'bor, you know."

Our companion's eyes widened slightly and he turned to me as if seeking confirmation. "Really?"

"Yes, Thor'n told me. He was King-of the-Mountain 'till the dagon came."

"King- _under_ -the-Mountain," I corrected softly, smiling at Fíli's earnestness.

"No, I mean…" the young fellow trailed off, seeming suddenly uncomfortable. It was understandable really, it was hardly everyday he had a child at his stall who turned out to be Thorin's heir. We stood in silence for a moment, neither of us certain what to say.

"What's this?" Fíli asked suddenly, leaning forward to grasp one of the figurines laid out in front of us. The man seemed to return to himself, shaking himself as though waking from a trance and leaping into action with Fíli.

" _That_  was made by my cousin – over there – it's an orc, nasty creatures, have you seen one?" Fíli shook his head, giggling at the man's enthusiastic questioning. "Really? I thought for sure  _you'd_  have taken down  _hundreds_ of them. No? Well, it's probably for the best. P'rhaps I could interest you in this one?" He placed the distressingly bloodied orc figurine down and lifted a rather more appropriate dwarf-like figure with a hammer in his hands. Fíli's brows creased into the most glorious pout as his eyes trailed back to the orc and its frightening companions – goblins, startlingly vicious looking dragons, wargs and other fell beasties – and he gazed longingly at them before sighing and reaching for the proffered toy.

"I made that one myself," our companion commented, looking over the various other figures before lifting another and handing it to me, winking proudly. I glanced down; in my hand, I held a very small but well-made dwarf figure with a branch-like shield bound to one arm.

"It's marvellous," I informed him, laughing. Fíli peered over at it interestedly but turned away, nose scrunched, as he realised it was 'just another dwarf'. I frowned slightly; Thorin's life read like that of a storybook hero – the prince in exile – he was revered, loved even by most of his people, indeed even my own people who had been here longest looked to him as their leader. Fíli, of all people, should understand and be proud of that, should recognise the tragedies and trials he had gone through to become that leader. But he didn't. To my son, Thorin was the ever-present shadow who haunted our halls, barely speaking but to ridicule me or scold him, certainly never laughing or – Mahal forbid –  _playing_ with him. Fíli knew nothing of his mother and uncle's losses save what Thorin himself had told him and even that was previous little – for all Thorin insisted Fíli ought to know everything about their history, he seemed reluctant to tell him the details.

Eventually, we settled upon twin horse statuettes with real, soft manes for Fíli and his future sibling and, much to our seller's amusement, I also took the figurine of my brother-in-law as a gift for my wife – she would find it every bit as amusing as I had, I knew. Thanking him, we wandered away, making for our agreed upon meeting point.

The ride home was uncomfortable to say the least. Fíli fell quickly into sleep once we set off, lulled by the steady movement of the pony and the excitement of the day. Without my son's cheerful patter to engage us all, we quickly became acutely aware of how little my wife's kin and I had to say to one another. It would have been better if we had come by wagon as my wife had originally suggested – a place for Fíli to be sheltered and safe whatever the weather and a place for me to well, hide out and avoid my surly companions until we reached our town again. But of course, Thorin had insisted we ride and I had agreed, as we had both pointed out this morning, the more time I was seen to spend in his company and be emulating my brother-in-law the better.

Curled in the folds of my travelling cloak, Fíli stirred, blinking dazed blue eyes up at me as we passed through the gates into the Northern sector of Ered Luin. I sniffed a grin as he sighed contentedly, one hand again sneaking up to his mouth as he snuggled closer into my chest. It would not be long now until he had a younger sibling – a sister or brother with whom he could cause mayhem throughout the kingdom as Dís looked on, innocently informing her brother that she could not think where our children would have gotten the idea for their mischief. I wondered if Fíli would take to his position as an elder brother as easily as, by all accounts, his uncle had. I would needst cherish these moments, these last few days before my days were once more occupied with constantly worrying that my wife was overtaxing herself caring for our newborn and my nights filled with squalling cries that demanded our attention ere all of Ered Luin was awoken. And then there was Thorin.

Though my wife was utterly convinced our new child would be a boy – which, as long as he was healthy, would by no means disappoint me – some small, selfish part of me wished for a girl. As proud as I was of my own kin – though we were by no means  _special_  – and as much as I adored my wife and respected my brother-in-law and their kin, hearing Fíli so confidently claim their ancestry over my own earlier in the day had stung me. Was he not every bit as much my son as hers? Had Thorin and their cousins not groused for months after his birth about how much he resembled me over them in appearance? But as much as Dís and of course, Thorin and just about every other member of the kingdom wished for another heir to Durin's line, would a girl not be better? Thorin's line was secure in my son (though as Dís reminded me when I spoke of my feelings on matter, nothing was set in stone until Thorin officially accepted Fíli as his heir); he would have no use for my  _daughter_  until she came of age. For now, Fíli was mine but every day he would become less my son and more Thorin's heir.

_Fíli, son of Dís, daughter of Thrain, son of Thror – King-Under-the-Mountain._

_Fíli, son of Fitalí, son of Fahím – scholar-under-the-thatchwork._

There really was no contest. As long as Thorin and his council accepted him, Fíli was as good as his. Sometimes I wondered whether I even  _wanted_ Thorin to like my child – children – nonsense, of course. I wanted Thorin to love and approve of Fíli and this new child as much as Dís and I did – Durin knew Fíli deserved it. It was an appalling thing for me to think of my brother-in-law who, for all our differences, I truly did care for, but I often wondered if he would take half as much of an interest in Fíli if he were not so useful to him – if Thorin had an heir of his own, would mine fade into insignificance? Perhaps. If Thorin gave up the mantle of his birth right and sought simply to be the head of  _our family_  rather than  _their people_  would he see Fíli and any more of my children as  _mine_ and not his? Probably. Would he care more for the little boy Fíli was than the adult he would become? Almost certainly. But could I ever ask that of him? Or even of my wife?

No. I could not, would in fact never consider it even in our most violent arguments. But still…a daughter would be best. A daughter would be cherished, protected as Dís had been and so too, as the sole heir, would Fíli. A brother and Thorin could afford to be careless – what would it matter if one were to be lost in some pride-fuelled battle as Dís' other brother had been? Thorin would yet have a  _spare_ to take his place.

"Fitalí?"

I blinked, shocked to find myself back at the stables of our own town with the sun mostly set and my brother-in-law looking questioningly at me from where he stood at my pony's head.

"Talí?" Thorin repeated, the name sounding stiff and alien coming from his lips. "Hand me the boy," Thorin said suddenly, arms already reaching up to take Fili from mine. When I did not move except to drop my gaze to my sleeping son, he repeated the command more loudly. Fili squirmed slightly before sitting up properly and blinking owlishly at our surroundings before looking in sleepy confusion between his uncle and me.

"Da?"

Fili's voice, small and questioning seemed to wake me from whatever trance I had been in and I handed my seemingly boneless son to my wife's brother, watched Fili – already halfway back to sleep – nuzzle his face into the crook of Thorin's shoulder as easily as he had with me and felt anger and bitterness explode within me. Turning, I dismounted and as my pony was led away turned to face them once more. I glared, feeling my hands trembling from the depths of my fury; all traces of his earlier ire gone, Thorin looked back at me, as unreadable and unperturbed in the face of my anger as always.

"Well?"

I struggled with restraint then. His brow raised in arrogant invitation, Thorin watched as I forced myself to bite back the rage that would have had me scream at him until my lungs burned, until my throat felt raw, until he understood even the slightest bit how deeply and unabashedly I respected and loved both him and his sister but how in that moment I found that I hated – truly, with every fibre of my being  _hated –_ what they were. _Durin's line. King-Under-the-Mountain._ The one man in the world that I could ever – would ever need to – entrust with my son's future and the woman who had made it so.

Lips trembling, feeling the heat rise up in my face and my entire body shaking with suppressed emotion to which I could hardly put a name, I turned and fled.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I tried for happy, I really did. But his situation just well...sucks. I'm feeling kind of positive about this at the moment though so watch this space. With any luck, the second part of this story (it would have been too long to put as one chapter IMO) will be posted if not tomorrow then by the end of the week and will actually be happier (although it'll most likely start sad-ish).
> 
> Hope people aren't too disappointed that I've been MIA for well, ages it feels like and that this is what I came up with...Actually it's really not that long; I mean I did Banks recently right? Although that didn't really count because it had been sitting 3/4 finished on my pc since January...Anyway, hope it wasn't disappointing.
> 
> T.


	7. Spare Part 2 - Thorin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continues the following day from previous chapter.
> 
> Thorin's POV.

* * *

CRACK!

Again my cousin felled my brother-in-law with such a casual ease that even I could not help but wince for him.  Lying supine on the cold floor, Fitalí gave a pained huff somewhere between a laugh and a moan before half-rolling himself to his feet. 

“Come,” he said, impatiently pushing unruly hair back from his face, “Again!”

I set my pen down with a sigh, catching the surreptitious glance Dwalin sent my way over Fitalí’s shoulder.  Glancing to Fíli who sat open-mouthed on the rug at my side, I shook my head very slightly.  My cousin and brother-in-law had wasted quite enough of their anxious energy; surely, the child needn’t be subjected to his father’s defeat any longer.  Enough was enough.  Presumably seeing his tutor’s reluctance, Fitalí too turned to look, his rapidly bruising jaw raised defiantly.  I sat back, my brows raised in blank surprise.  Though we were hardly bosom friends, with the exception of our admittedly petty falling out the previous day, our relationship had come on in leaps and bounds ever since my sister’s child – first child – had been born.  And, though he had admittedly been in something of a foul mood upon his return from the market quarter last night, I still found myself confused as to the reason for the blatantly withering look he had given me as he turned back to Dwalin.  Apart from a few hard glances and sharp words (surprisingly, both of which came from him rather than myself), we had been getting along quite amiably whilst Dís suffered her way through the last of her ordeal.

“Dwalin,” he demanded, giving my cousin a slight push with one hand (a testament to Dwalin’s own begrudging fondness for him that the shove was not returned tenfold), “Again.”

With one last glance at me – at which I shrugged, still pondering my apparent wrongdoing – Dwalin gave an indulgent shake of his head before returning to their fighting, barking corrections to his opponent’s stance as he did so.  After watching them for several minutes, I looked back to my own occupation - a half-written missive to Dain – clearing my throat and nodding pointedly towards my heir’s haphazard scribbling.  Another look of saucer-eyed curiosity at his father and Fíli returned to his drawing before quickly shuffling to between my feet underneath the table as he was almost trampled by our sparring companions.

I shook my head, absentmindedly rubbing at a fresh burn upon my arm as I returned to my writing.  Dwalin had caught me with his tongs earlier in our shared shock upon being informed of my sister’s imminent childbirth. 

 

* * *

 

Just before midday, a young dwarf, one I vaguely recognised as being apprenticed to my cousin Oin, had edged his way into the forge and informed us that Dís’ waiting was at an end – Oin and his brother’s wife had been sent for and he and his companion had come into the lower town to fetch myself and Dís’ husband back to the house.  After our initial shock – for it was not expected for at least another week – Dwalin and I had downed our tools and, in our haste, all but crushed the lad.  As we rounded the first houses on the outskirts of the inner quarter, my brother-in-law also appeared albeit briefly.  Fetched from wherever he had been occupying himself, Fitalí had hurtled into us in a wall of flying parchment and stray limbs that had near knocked us both flying before taking off ahead of us at a sprint without so much as a ‘good morning’.  When Dwalin and I arrived, he was waiting, red-faced and bent double outside my sister’s room.

“Well?!”  Dwalin demanded of him immediately, scowling at the closed door as though it had mortally offended him.

With great effort, Fitalí had dragged himself upright only to slump bonelessly into a chair placed by the door, throwing his hands up in a frustrated ‘ _I don’t know’_ gesture.  Dwalin had growled under his breath, squaring his shoulders and stomping towards the door only to stop dead, hand outstretched as an ear-splitting scream came from within. 

“That’s the second since I’ve been here,” Fitalí had informed us from beneath curtains of copper hair as he lurched forward and buried his face in his hands upon hearing my younger sister’s cry.  Dwalin and I exchanged anguished looks, taking up posts either side of the door and resigning ourselves to perhaps hours of listening, helpless, to my sister’s agonised exertions.  The pain was of course necessary; the resultant child would be precious no matter its parentage but another heir?  A gift beyond measure. 

It did not make listening to my sister’s ordeal any easier to bear.  I silently thanked Mahal I had not been present to bear witness to their first child’s birth - how Dís had abided her husband’s nervous activity was quite beyond me.  His knee bounced, fingers jerkily made and remade braids in his beard, pushed hair back from his face only for it to be brought forward again when he inevitably ran out of beard.  All the same, his pained expression brought a swell of affection to my chest – what a fool I had been to have ever thought his attentions to her to have been motivated by anything other than complete adoration.  And if there could be any doubt, the way he doted upon their son – and their as yet still unborn child – was proof enough.

Their son?  I had turned to glance around the dimly lit hall, so used to Fíli trailing everywhere in his father’s wake from dawn until dusk was I that it had so much as crossed my mind to look for him.

“Where is Fíli?”  I had inquired, once Dís’ pain had passed for the time being.  Fitalí had stiffened, peering at me from between his fingers though I saw it anyway.

“I don’t know,” he said eventually, “With Balin, most likely.”

As if on cue, Balin had emerged from whence we had come, striding purposefully down the hallway towards us.

“Where’s Fíli?”  Fitalí asked immediately, jumping to his feet and oblivious to my scowl as he pushed past me.

Balin, who had opened his mouth as though to talk to me, frowned fondly at him for a second.  “This is no place for a child,” he had chided gently, nodding his head back towards my assembly hall.  Blushing fiercely, Fitalí ducked his head, shooting an abashed look at Balin before casting a fretful gaze towards the door and Dís.  With a grim smile and murmured thanks, he turned and loped off up the corridor in search of his son.  “Another one,” Balin had winked at us both, “That’ll be _three_ of them.”

Dwalin grunted, “One was quite enough,” he said, though with an almost affectionate glint in his eyes.  Turning to me as we both made our way back up the corridor, he added, “At least the little ones are half yours, my friend.”

“Hardly,” I said with a small smile as I pushed open the heavy door and we joined my hyperactive brother-in-law and his giggling son.  I closed the subject with a glance at Dwalin.  I supposed it was true but following some truly spectacular arguments with my sister (and her husband, for he had finally found his voice against me once Fíli was born) I now understood it to be somewhat indelicate to say such things in front of the children’s father.  Still…another heir.  Possibly.  Dís had sworn it would be another boy – like as not, she’d had Oin or Balin look for some _sign_ to prove it.  Not that it mattered over much.  She and her husband had already produced one fine son and although nothing had been set in stone, I had decided from our first meeting that I would claim him as an heir so any future progeny were either _insurance_ or _assets_.  Even as the words crossed my mind a flicker of guilt ran through me – I could only imagine my sister’s wrath if she ever heard me refer to her children thusly, though in all fairness, our own parents and grandparents had often referred to my younger siblings as such.  It made perfect sense, but I somehow doubted my sister and her husband would see that.

Fitalí had cast us a perturbed look as we entered but said nothing as I sat and called Fíli to my side, Dwalin drifting disinterestedly towards the table and its plentiful wine.  Fitalí set Fíli on his feet and, though he still looked vaguely uncomfortable, gave his son a soft push towards me when the child showed no sign of moving.  Even then Fíli barely took two steps towards me, eyes wide and lips pressed together uncertainly. I tried not to think too hard on that.  I was hardly a paragon of avuncular affection but Dís had assured me my efforts thus far had not been entirely unnoticeable. 

“Fíli,” I repeated more gently, now indicating the spot just in front of my chair, “Come here to me.”

I gave what I hoped was an encouraging smile – though it became rather forced as Dís’ muted cries again rent the air – as Fíli glanced apprehensively over his shoulder at his father before edging towards me.  He came to a halt just short of where I had ordered him, gasping in surprise as I leant forward and plucked him up by his armpits and placed him back down to sit on the table before me.  I turned to the small chest Balin had left out at my request, hand not-quite trembling as I undid the age-stiffened catch and removed the cloth-covered prizes inside. 

“You will be an older brother soon,” I informed him, almost smiling as his face immediately broke into a sunny grin and he nodded enthusiastically, “And…you are right to be excited, but there are certain responsibilities that come with that station – setting an example, learning all your lessons so that you might help him in his, taking care of him when – ”

“He c’n eat my food if he wants…” Fíli interrupted suddenly, though his face fell and he huffed sadly.  I frowned slightly, instinctively looking to his father for an explanation.

“A chap at the market yesterday said…something about it,” he said, shaking his head fondly as he hopped up onto the table and lifted Fíli into his lap.  “It was a joke, Fíli,” he whispered conspiratorially, smoothing hair back from his son’s face as he tilted his head back to blink earnestly at his father.

“But he really can…” Fíli assured us both more determinedly, as though nothing could define how good an older brother he was than the willingness to give up his food.  I had to smile then; unlike his father, I could recall times when my being their elder brother truly did dictate how much food my siblings and I ate.  There would never come a time when the same could be said for Fíli and his younger sibling.  _I_ would see to that.

“I’m glad to hear it,” I told him eventually, “But you must also be able to protect him – and these,” I began to unfold the cloth covered parcel in my hands, feeling my throat tightening as I did so, “These will _one day_ help you do that.”

Though Dís, Fitalí and I had occasionally discussed Fíli’s training – for even Fitalí agreed he would need to learn how to fight – I was unsurprised to see Fitalí’s arms stiffen around his small son as Fíli immediately reached out one hand.  Removing one of the sheathed daggers from its wrapping, I held it out to him as he ran one finger along the sheath’s intricate markings.

“These belonged to your other uncle,” I paused and cleared my throat, “to…to Frerin.  And he defended your mother many times with them.”  Wide blue eyes met mine and I had to look away.  As much as Dís and I had agreed upon this, I could not bring myself to continue – not when the cautiously excited little face looked so near identical to my brother’s face when he too had seen them for the first time.  I had to take a moment to remind myself that it was Fíli and not Frerin who sat before me.  I sat back, rubbing one hand across my face and staring blankly at my brother’s most prized weapons before replacing them in their wrapping and beginning to fold them away again.  Utterly foolish!  Why in Durin’s name had Dís and I thought this necessary when the child was still so young he could barely have _lifted_ one let alone wielded two?  Fíli made a disappointed noise as I took one final look before replacing them in their box.

Fitalí hushed his son’s disappointment, one finger smoothing out the tiny frown lines as the boy pouted.  “You will get them back,” he assured him quietly and when I eventually looked up, his hard gaze was fixed on mine as he added, “But you will not need them for a _very_ long time.”

I nodded once, silently reassuring my brother-in-law that the agreement we had made was still in place.  My brother’s weapons were tools not toys and until Fíli was old enough to appreciate the difference, they would remain where they had been for the last seventy years – untouched and unused in the chest Frerin had carved for them himself when he too had been too young to make use of them.  At my nod, Fitalí’s face softened slightly – I wondered if it was simply his concern for my wife that was causing him to be so out of sorts – and he shifted Fíli back on to the table before reaching across us both to grab a pen and ink before setting them down alongside a scrap of parchment from within his jerkin.

“Here,” he said, smiling warmly at his son who was watching him with rapt attention, “This…will be your brother’s name when he arrives, so you had best know how to recognise it.”

“Brother?”  Fíli repeated hopefully, no doubt thinking – as I had at his age – how infinitely more appealing the idea of a brother than a sister was.

Fitalí grinned again, shaking his head.  “Your Mama assures me so,” he said, ruffling his son’s hair with one hand.  He drew the letters painstakingly clear and large on the page, glancing up to make sure his son was watching.  I began to crane my neck over Fíli’s head, curious as to what Dís had finally decided on – for months now it seemed their unborn child had a new name every day – but my view was immediately blocked by a large hand.

“Oi! Stop that!”  Fitalí ordered indignantly, glaring up at me through curtains of hair.  I blinked, somewhat taken aback.  The boy had barely spoken to me since arriving back from the market yesterday and now he _reprimanded_ me.  Too stunned at his audacity to reply, I did indeed stop.  Sitting back, I looked up just in time to see Dwalin wink approvingly at our young friend.  Traitor.  Why, when all aspects of their personalities dictated they be unable to bear one another did Dwalin insist on _indulging_ the insolent little clown whenever he found the courage to speak against me.  Any retort I might have come up with was cut off by the door suddenly being flung open as one of Oin’s apprentices came stumbling out, guided by Balin’s hand on his arm.

“She struck me!” the lad protested, one hand clutched to his face as blood seeped from between his fingers, “I was only trying to help and do as Mister Oin asked and she struck me!”

Amazingly, they had crossed the hall and entered the outer corridors before any of us succumbed to our laughter.  It started with a shared look of relief at Dís being _well enough_ to have struck the poor fellow but one tiny, ill-disguised chuckle from Fitalí and all three of us gave in to it.  Fíli gazed from one to another of us in frank amazement, no doubt wondering at our sudden change in demeanours.

“Have you nothing better to do than stand around and snigger like fools?” Balin asked shortly as he returned, looking harried.  We sobered at once though Dwalin’s eyes still glinted roguishly.

“Is she all right, Balin?”  Fitalí asked, hurrying after him as he reached the door once more.

Balin paused, clapping him on the shoulder.  “It shan’t be long now,” looking past Fitalí he added more sharply, “Brother!  _Go on_ and fetch the laddies a drink – they both look fit to faint!”

With that, Balin was gone leaving Fitalí and I to scowl indignantly after him at having been referred to as ‘laddies’.  Dwalin did however fetch us both drinks – Fitalí’s measure noticeably closer to the rim of his cup – and sat with us a while until Fitalí suddenly slammed his down and declared it high time he and Dwalin made use of the time and practice Fitalí’s combat training.  As they moved away to do just that, I began the letter to my cousin Dain detailing various events from the past season and beginning a paragraph telling him of my sister’s new child.  The child could be born sickly and weak in its first cries after a long and bloody birth, it would make no difference to the story Dain would hear of the newest member of our family – a brief labour but strong and arriving with a hearty battle cry as Fíli had (and, incidentally, each and every addition to Durin’s line for as far back as our ancestors had made record of).  By the time the child was actually born I would have only to add its sex and name and the missive would be gone within the hour – already having been superseded once as my heir apparent, this birth would make little difference to Dain but kin was kin and he would need to be told. 

As much as I tried to ignore it, I was acutely aware of Fíli shuffling around on the table surface, quite literally bouncing with excitement as he watched the action between his father and my cousin.  As my hand flew to keep my inkwell from toppling over for the fifth time in as many minutes, I sighed harshly earning a guilty look from my young heir.  I shook my head exasperatedly – how I had occupied Dís and Frerin as children without resorting to tying them in place was quite beyond me.  Setting him on the floor at my feet with an order to stay and one hand atop his golden head to ensure he did so, I set to looking about me for something with which to occupy him.  Finding no other amusement for him, I placed my discarded draft letters down upon the floor in front of him and handed him a pen – one sheet was so saturated with spilt ink that he would get by very well on it – and baying him occupy himself while I finished my work. 

 

* * *

 

“Enough!” Fitalí said breathlessly at last, again flat out on the floor, Dwalin’s not inconsiderable bulk weighing him down, “Dwalin!  Enough!  Get off me, I yield!”

Closing my eyes gratefully – being thick-skulled is one thing but even dwarves can be injured if one slams another’s head into stone flooring enough times – I looked up just in time to see Fitalí silently roll himself up and onto his feet before hurling himself at Dwalin’s retreating back.  A most deplorably unfair tactic but Dwalin’s expression as he was floored by a dwarf of barely half his strength or bulk was reason enough for me to wish ‘Talí many more opportunities to do so.  It was difficult, as Dwalin inevitably gained the upper hand once more, not to draw comparisons between the scene before me and the same scene played repeatedly throughout our adolescence – Dwalin and I _appearing_ to put all our strength and determination into besting a smaller, younger opponent who was so helpless with laughter that he had no hope of resisting the attack.

“I yield!” my brother-in-law gasped once more, before half-pushing himself upright and scowling, “Get off you me, you _lout_!”

Having briefly given in to his own grin at the mock-serious insult it was several seconds before Dwalin stood and pulled his companion to his feet.  “What are you smirking at?” he growled, suddenly turning his gaze on Fíli and me.

“You left the rear unguarded, Cousin,” I commented, standing and refilling goblets with my back to them as I tried to force down my own laughter, “with disastrous consequences, as always.”

“So did you,” Dwalin harrumphed with a shove between my shoulder blades as he passed me.  I gave little thought to it before handing him the goblet from which the most wine had spilled as he did so.

“Really, Dwalin,” ‘Talí began, looking inordinately pleased with himself as he slumped in my chair and glanced briefly at my letter before taking the cup as I handed it to him, “An enemy begs you to retreat and you actually do so?” he tutted and turned to me, “Are you quite certain you want _him_ heading up your armies?”

“Only until your son can do so,” I told him, feeling another smile tugging at my lips – one that quickly faded as Fitalí rolled his eyes and huffed.

“ _If my son_ ever does so,” he muttered through gritted teeth as he joined Fíli on the ground and lifted the child into his lap.  I had barely opened my mouth to challenge him when we were once again interrupted by Balin, trailed closely by several harried looking midwives.  Quarrel forgotten, the three of us stood immediately.

“Well?”  Fitalí asked, swinging Fíli onto his hip and striding purposefully across the hall to Balin. 

Balin glanced at me, eyes twinkling before stating simply, “A son.”

I wondered if I had imagined the way Fitalí’s face fell a fraction before he shook it away and embraced Balin with one arm, muttering his thanks before disappearing down the corridor to Dís.  Dwalin and I made our way to Balin more slowly, all of us feeling the air fairly thrum with our excitement – a son.  Another heir to Durin’s line.  Another nephew and cousin to be delighted in, doted upon, and trained when he was old enough.  Dain’s place as my successor was growing ever less likely – not that he particularly wanted it anyway – but to write to him with such news…ah, even my last draft was inadequate.

“And?”

Balin smiled knowingly, “You look pale, Thorin,” he informed me, echoing his words from Fíli’s birth years earlier.

“BALIN! And?”

“Strong, and as healthy a child as I ever saw,” he assured, taking pity on us at last and patting my hand as I clapped his shoulder, scarcely able to contain myself.  The nervous energy that my cousin and brother-in-law had been able to work off made me near tremble from relief and excitement and pride and _relief!_  

“Well?” Dwalin said gruffly, “Go to them then!”

I did.

 

* * *

 

I paused, my hand poised over the door handle as murmured voices reached my ears.  The words ‘ _perfect’_ and ‘ _tiny_ ’ were repeated several times by various voices.  Resting my head against the rough wood, I smiled.  ‘ _Perfect’_ Talí claimed.  That had yet to be seen but…as if any child of my sister’s could ever be anything but.  I took a moment to be grateful.  When Fíli had been born, the cold winter had brought our people closer, our population had near doubled with people seeking shelter and assistance from their king, had meant that markets – what few stalls there had been – had been held in my council halls, even Fitalí’s kin who so reluctantly joined our town had assembled in my halls awaiting the news.  Today saw my halls all but deserted and even our quarter was near empty but for those closest to us, awaiting news of Dís and the child; a good harvest and good trade set up with Dunland and Bree had seen our people move out to the far flung reaches of the kingdom and though I was yet their chief, they cared little for my own family’s occasions if they did not directly affect them.  Good.  There would be ceremony and feasting and no doubt we would soon be inundated with well-wishers seeking to take advantage of my good will while they could but for now?  For now word of my sister-son’s birth would be spread by Balin, and my own announcement could wait until Dís was recovered enough to sit at my side as I made it. 

“Come in or away with you!” 

I straightened up, feeling my face heat up both from my having been caught _hovering_ outside the door and my near falling face first over the threshold as the door that I had been leant against was flung inwards.  Oin stood before me, frowning as always. 

“Let him in,” my sister’s weary voice sounded from behind my cousin, “He’s waited all day, and you know how Thorin _struggles_ with patience.”

“I do not _struggle_ ,” I informed my dishevelled sister as Oin stepped aside and returned to where he was presumably preparing the infant to be held, “I am the _king_ , I have no _need_ for patience.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Dís said, mimicking my frown before her resolve weakened and her face broke into the most beautiful smile.  Taking the hand she reached out to me, I shifted a quietly protesting Fíli to her other side as I took up a seat beside her on the bed, both of us watching Fitalí fidgeting nervously by Oin and the baby.  “You might not want this one,” she cautioned me seriously, frown once more in place as she leant into my side, her head resting against my forearm where she hugged it to herself.  I felt a sudden chill flood through me – not want him?  The child was less than an hour old!  What could possibly be so terrible that I – _his uncle_ – could not want him?  “He’s trouble,” she continued conversationally, seemingly oblivious to my distress, “He’s planning mischief – I can tell.”

“He is clearly not the only one.”

She ducked her head and grinned, pleased with her little trick and I let out a breath I had barely realised I was holding.

“Do you forgive me, _dearest_ Brother?” she asked innocently and I began to wonder why I had ever thought it to be Fitalí who was a bad influence on _her_ and not vice versa.  I glanced at our companions – their focus still entirely upon this latest addition – and remained stony-faced just long enough for the devilish glint in her eyes to dim slightly before dropping a kiss on to her sweat-soaked dark hair.

“I can hardly _not_.” 

Bidding us goodbye, Oin shuffled past and left us with an order to call for him if needs be.  Involuntarily, my hand tightened over Dís’ as Talí turned and, with almost laughable care, made his way back towards the bed, the small cloth-wrapped bundle in his arms. 

“Kíli!” Fíli cried eagerly, clapping his hands and bouncing up from where he had been curled sleepily against his mother’s side.  He rose to his knees, Dís’ hand keeping him from toppling over in his excitement as his father neared us.  To my surprise (and much to Fíli’s disappointment) Fitalí did not go to him but instead rounded the bed until he was almost toe-to-toe with me.  Any pleasure I felt upon seeing my newest nephew was crushed almost immediately when I finally dragged my eyes away from the ruddy little face with its shock of black hair peeking out from its blankets and glanced up at his father. 

He did not speak for a moment, even when prompted by Dís’ concerned “’Talí?”, instead gazing down into his infant son’s face with an unreadable expression.  He took several tremulous breaths, opening and closing his mouth several times without speaking and seeming to be reconciling himself to some monumental decision.  Regardless of what my sister thought, I felt I had been showing quite extraordinary patience with her husband today; between the sullen silences and hateful looks, I was quite amazed in my ability to have kept company with him at all without thumping him – and without a single sharp word from me too!  Just as I felt that rare patience to have come to a complete end, he spoke.

“He’s strong – very strong,” he began haltingly, frowning slightly before continuing quickly as though he might lose his nerve at any moment, “His name is Kíli, and – ” he broke off, lips pressed together before finally tearing his gaze away from _Kíli_ and meeting mine unwaveringly for the first time that day, “And he is _my_ son.”

I nodded shortly, certain that my confusion and disconcertion was openly showing and glanced away from the trembling half-furious, half-heartbroken face before me and turned to my sister who, quite apart from clearly being on the verge of exhausted tears herself, looked just as bewildered as I felt.

“Of course,” I agreed, extracting myself from my sister and intending to have my poor brother-in-law sit down before he fell.

“But he…There’s nothing _I_ can… Take him.” Fitalí said suddenly, blindly thrusting the precious bundle at me with shaking arms, “For Durin’s sake, Thorin, take him!”

I did so, more out of concern that if I didn’t then the poor thing would have been dropped than because Fitalí had ordered me to do so.  The moment he had been relieved, Talí gave us all one last heartbroken look before turning and storming from the room.  With a soft cry, Fíli slid down off the bed beside me and ran clumsily after him only to be returned several moments later, a distraught, bawling moppet being shushed in Balin’s arms. 

“What _on earth_ have you been doing to your poor husband?” Balin asked, placing Fíli back down in his mother’s embrace where he quietened almost immediately.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Dís said, looking dazed and tearful even as she soothed her child’s – eldest child’s – tears.  “Thorin!  For pity sake!” she snapped suddenly, gesturing urgently towards my squalling, struggling burden. 

Suddenly, as though I had been watching the scene from afar, I became acutely aware of the ear-splitting shrieks emitting from my new nephew’s mouth and adjusted my hold just in time to save the poor little fellow from falling clear out of my arms.  That such an occasion could have descended into… _this_ travesty filled me with such fury that I could scarce contain it.  As gently as I could manage, I handed _Kíli_ off into Balin’s hands and with what I hoped was a reassuring smile at my sister – but may in fact have been more like a grimace – took off after my errant brother-in-law.  My sister’s panicked shout of “Thorin! Please _don’t_!” rang in my ears, my fury intensifying – that she would still seek to protect him after such behaviour!  I was going to throttle the common little prat!  Never mind that he had made my sister happier this past decade than I had ever seen her – even as a child!  Never mind that the little fool was growing dearer and dearer to me with each passing day or that it was only by his _ridiculous_ company that the pain of Frerin’s passing all those years ago was beginning to ease.  How dare he cause my sister and nephew – _nephews_ \- such upset today of all days?!

By the time I came upon him – not that he had been hard to find, apparently his plan, if indeed he had had one, did not extend to what to do after his little tantrum – the anger I felt towards him was threatening to overwhelm me.  He barely had time to look up as I entered before I struck him, one fist colliding satisfyingly loudly with his already bruising jaw. 

The fight that ensued was more of a tussle than a battle; both of us were too far gone in our emotions to contemplate our strikes before we made them.  There were many clumsy punches and some decidedly underhanded _biting_ but I did have one brief moment of lucidity to appreciate just how far Fitalí’s combat skills had come on before I inevitably won the upper hand and had him effectively pinned in place as Dwalin had earlier.

“Explain.”  I ordered, having no need to raise my voice.  To my vague surprise, he did not seem the least bit intimidated or afraid of me, instead he actually found it in himself to _laugh_ in my face.

“Just do it, Thorin,” he murmured, reddened eyes not leaving mine. “Just claim them both now and do whatever you will with them – with my blessing.  Mahal knows you’ll do it anyway.”

Wrong-footed, I released my hold on his clothing, stepping back as he propped himself up against the wall, gingerly rubbing his throat.  I slid down the wall to sit beside him, my body screaming in protest where he had kneed me in the back.  He glanced at me, and I just had time to consider I probably ought to have held back a little in my strikes – my nephew would soon be presented to my council with his father looking as though he had come off worst in tavern brawl – before he spoke.

“Fíli was named for my grandfather,” he said quietly. 

Though he was not facing me I could feel dark eyes upon me and, when I chanced a glance his way, I struggled to assure myself it was only my near throttling him that caused them to glisten so.  My anger having dissipated almost instantly in the face of my young brother’s obvious _anguish_ (and the knowledge that I had made my opinion of his behaviour quite clear), I could think of nothing more to say than, “I see.”

“You didn’t know that,” said with a lopsided smile, “because none of you ever asked – only Dís.  You are not the only one with heritage, Thorin, or whose ancestors were forced from their homelands – my grandfather died defending yours but nobody tells tales or sings songs about _him_.  My family and _our_ ways have not always been so…useless to yours.” 

“Hardly useless,” I muttered, knocking my shoulder against his.  “I’ve never seen my sister so happy.  And our people…you’ve given them what I never will.  Fíli and,” I paused, the name still so alien on my lips despite the warmth that seemed to rush through me as I said it, “and Kíli are both fine boys.  We are all of us very pleased with them – as you ought to be.”

“I am!”  He was silent for a moment, picking absently at a pulled thread on his tunic.  “Tell me…” he began hesitantly and so quietly that I had to duck my head to hear.  “Tell me…that you don’t want them.  _Either_ of them.”

I closed my eyes.  I wished – how I _wished_ – I could do as he asked.  “I can’t.” He scowled immediately, eyebrows knit though he must have known what I would say.  Had I not had much the same conversation with Dís just days before their eldest was born?  “There has to be an heir.”

“Get one of your own.” His petulant scowls were rivalled only by that of his son.

 “Who’d have me?”

“No one.  Not once they’d _met_ you.”

“Well, there’s an end to that then.”

I swear, he _nearly_ smiled.  “At least you have a…a _spare_ now,” he muttered as if the very word was repulsive.  “But…” he broke off, ducking his head, fists clenched tightly in his hair.

“For pity sake!” I snapped at last, my patience with his sulking dramatics at an end.  “Whatever it is you would say, say it and have done!”

“But are they _safe_ with _you_?”  He demanded immediately, turning to me at last even as I felt myself pulling away from him, wounded.  “Or _from_ you?  You with your kingdom, and your peopleto think of before _them_!”

 _Safe from me?_   I would not – _could not –_ have hurt them.  He surely could not think so little of me as to believe I would intentionally harm either of his children.  Or that I would intentionally put them in harm’s way until they were grown enough to defend themselves?  I could not speak, could do nothing under the weight of such crushing disappointment that after all these years he still judged me so harshly. 

His face softened slightly and his hand gripped my shoulder as he spoke, “Thorin, I am not saying you would not mourn them, but can you honestlytell me that my children will _always_ be as safe in your arms as they would be in mine?”

“I would defend them – both of them – with my dying breath – my oath on that, Brother.”

He was silent then, whether because he knew my word was not given lightly and was momentarily placated, or because he had, like so many times before come to realise that this was a battle he could not win.  The king must have an heir and as my sister-sons, that dubious privilege fell to his children.  As it had on the day of Fíli’s birth, my heart positively ached for him to be so alone and surrounded by those who would rather see the child as my heir than _his_ son.  I watched him, lips pressed and hands clenched as he swallowed the bitter, desperate words that he would never give voice to again.

“Well then…I suppose there’s an end to that.”  And suddenly, the carefree smiling mask was donned as he stood.  I took the hand that was offered to me and let myself be hauled to my feet.  The matter was not ended as he had said, but it was also a conversation for another time – perhaps a time when Dís or at the very least, _Balin_ , could be around to intercede when my…impatience and his _melodramatics_ got the better of us.  “We’d best get back,” Talí announced, clapping his hands together, “Dís will be wondering what’s become of us.”  He hesitated, brows creasing faintly as he spoke, “I didn’t mean to be so…Dís must think me so…I ought to apologise, I _will_ apologise.  Everything she’s endured today – these past months, in fact – and I just…” he sighed, “We’d best get back to her.”

I agreed and we set off once more for my sister’s chambers, neither of us speaking again until we had reached the door into the hall.  When Talí raised his hand to open it, I raised my own to stop him.  He froze, eyeing me without turning but he did eventually lower his arm and meet my gaze, face taut with trepidation.

“This cannot go on,” I said bluntly, “This… rift between you and I, it ends.  I cannot turn my back on my people any more than you can and I am…sorry that I cannot waive my right to them, as you would like.  I would not intentionally endanger them and I do not mean to _steal_ them from you, or claim them as my own.  But I will not see one of them take my place as leader of our people if his upbringing has left him incapable of doing so.”

He nodded as I spoke, eyes unfocused as he considered it all.  “I just need them to be safe, Thorin,” He sighed at last, one hand rubbing wearily at his brow, “I need them to be safe and _happy_ before – ”

“Before they become jaded and miserable like me,” I concluded for him.  He looked faintly apologetic for it but did not tell me I was wrong.  “I don’t intend to die for a good while yet,” I assured him shortly, “They have time.”

He did not speak and I allowed him his silence as he turned once more to the door and held it open, falling into step with me as I entered.  I was surprised when I suddenly felt his hand upon my shoulder and him watching me intently, only to smile far too brightly at me the moment I turned to him.  Ah.  The matter was closed then.  He was still angry – I could tell – perhaps even afraid, but we had reached an impasse and could go no further.  Not this night anyway.  This quarrel was neither over nor resolved, but merely closed until such time as one of us saw fit to reopen the matter.  No amount of assurances or threats from me would incite Talí to continue the discussion now; we were as resolved on the matter as we had ever been and my brother-in-law would not discuss it any further today.  I confess myself to have been glad.  We were not as close as I daresay Dís would like but to have found myself so at odds with him the past day or so – particularly at such a time – had worn on me.  And I did not like to see my cheerful, roguish brother so downhearted.

It was selfish, but to see the usual grin across his face once more – forced or not – lifted a weight from me that I had hardly realised I was carrying.  He hesitated outside Dís’ room, turning to me with anxiety plastered across his face once more.

“How do I look?”

I blinked.  “Pardon?”

“How do I look?” he repeated with a huff, “Do I look like a man able to take care of his family properly or can you tell I’ve just been gifted to a right royal thrashing by my own brother?”

I considered him for a moment, taking in the dishevelled hair – braids long since having come loose – crooked spectacles slightly more so than before, and the frankly astounding collection of bruises now beginning to show upon his face.  “No,” I smiled, shaking my head as I did so, “No, you will do.”

He grinned – properly this time.  “Dear me, is it that bad?”

“You will do very well,” I amended, though my concern likely showed openly.

“You must be glad Dís is bedridden; she would – ” A sudden cry rose up from within my sister’s chamber, the furious, mewling howl of an infant not yet two hours old.  _Kíli_.  I had expected Talí’s face to darken once more – perhaps even for him to flee as he had earlier – I had not expected to suddenly have his one arm hooked around my neck, tugging me closer until our foreheads met and I could feel his breath hot on my face as he spoke.  “Would you like to come and meet your latest heir?  I should like to introduce you rather better this time, if Dís will let me.”

“I would like that very much…” I said uncertainly, drawing away from him and wondering whether it would not be better, given our recent conversation, for me to defer my intrusion until later when I might be more welcome, “but I must write to Dain.  He will need to be informed.”

His sharp eyes narrowed almost suspiciously until suddenly his face cleared and I delighted at how so small an act could bring such a relieved, almost tender smile to his face.  “But you will come back?” he asked, almost nervously.  “Dis will want you here – it’s only right that you come; you are the king after all.  And he _is_ your heir.”

I raised my own hand to his shoulder, ducking my head slightly in order to meet his gaze.  “My _nephew_ ,” I corrected firmly, again marvelling at his gratitude for such small kindness on my part.

“ _Kili_ ,” he said in a seemingly awed undertone.  He nodded once to me, “We shall expect you here later then?  Your _nephews_ will be waiting.”

“As your _sons_ are now,” I pointed out wryly, with a push towards Dis’ chamber once more.  He stole one last glance my way before turning and – at last – entering the bedroom once more.

 

* * *

 

Several hours later, my cup filled to the brim, and a plate of what I had been able to scavenge from my sister’s kitchens set before me, I sat once more in my so-called council hall.  Taking a sip – wary of where Tali had in a somewhat miraculous feat, caught me full in the face with his elbow – I rested my chin on one hand and read through my various drafts to Dain where they had been collected and set down neatly for me by some kind soul. 

Pitiful.  Feeble.  Downright _inadequate_.  Not one of them conveyed our news in anywhere near proud enough words.  I shuffled the papers, hoping to come across one I had not reviewed and realised that mixed up with my own papers were those which I had discarded much earlier and given up to serve as drawing paper for Fili.  I paused at them, considering each of them in varying degrees of amusement and puzzlement until I came across a page upon which there were several painstakingly clear marks most certainly not made by my nephew.  Turning it right way up, I read what my brother had been so adamant I could not see earlier.

 _Kili, son of Fitalí._  
Also _son of Dis, of Durin’s line._  
(Also brother to **Fili** – that’s you, inùdoy)

And, in slightly smaller though no less clear runes beneath that:

_Also sister-son to Thorin, ~~son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the Mountain,~~ Lord of Ered Luin._

Dain had anxiously waited many moons to hear of my sister’s new child, this infant who had once more usurped him as my successor.  One last night’s wait would do no harm.

_Son of Fitalí.  Son of Dis. Sister-son to Thorin._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inùdoy - my son


	8. Succession - Kili

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a chapter that I am actually quite pleased with but feel free to disagree and now, more than ever, I welcome constructive criticism or even just general comments on characters/writing style etc. because I honestly feel that I've lost something.
> 
> Whining over, here is a Kili chapter because it's been pointed out that I neglect him quite a bit. And, because I do actually have an opinion on this, it is the Autumn of 2901, not that it in any way affects the story. Finally, I won't go into detail about my personal theories on dwarf aging etc but Kili is roughly 11/12 and Fili would be sort of 14/15.

* * *

**Kili POV**

* * *

 

To think the day had begun so well – feasting and the most glorious party to celebrate Thorin's having been leader of our people for six decades! And now this. But he had said it. Fíli  _finally_  said it!

Nobody spoke for what seemed like the  _longest_ time. Seasons changed – whole  _kingdoms_  must have fallen into ruin before anybody spoke again. It seemed as though nobody dared so much as  _breathe_! My heart felt as though it was in my throat – the silence pressed down upon me, deafening me, freezing me where I sat,  _suffocating_   _me_  before –

"I  _beg_ your pardon?" It was not my uncle who broke the silence. Mama, still in her finery and looking every bit the princess she had been, stepped forward. "Fíli?" she leant across the table top and placed her hand atop my brother's, her expression so unrecognisable from the earlier celebrations that I could not stand to look at her. "What do you mean?"

I glanced at my uncle who had barely moved but to set his drink down; looking at him was no better. It was not I who had incurred his anger and yet every instinct in me that was  _not_  telling me to do everything in my power to defend my brother and his decision was telling me to flee the room and not stop until I reached the temporary safety of Mr Balin's house. He sat so rigidly he barely seemed to be breathing! The air around him fairly thrummed with the enormity of his rage. Though his eyes had not left Fíli 's – and any other time, I might have been proud of my brother for holding his gaze so unwaveringly – Thorin gazed at him as though seeing him for the first time. He blinked and I hoped to Mahal that I had imagined the miniscule tightening of his jaw. My uncle has something of a talent for making even the slightest change in expression feel truly monumental. Thorin raised his chin slightly, eyes still on my brother. Unnoticed, I felt myself shrink into my chair a little further.

"I…" finally, Fíli dragged his gaze away from our uncle and instead turned to Mama, grasping one of her hands in his trembling ones, "I don't want it. I don't…Mother, I don't  _want_ to be king."

"Well, of course, not for  _many years_  Fíli but – "

"Ever."

She laughed then. Tight and disbelieving and with a familiar glance at Uncle as if to say ' _do you hear what nonsense your nephews are spouting now? What am I to do with them?_ ' She withdrew her hand, Fíli's face fell a fraction more, and for a moment, I hated her.

"You don't know what you are saying, Fíli."

And so I hated her a moment longer.

"I  _do_."

He did. He had thought of nothing else but this since Mr Balin had mentioned in our lessons – as though it were the most natural thing in the world – that Thorin would soon be asked to recognise Fíli formally as his heir. No amount of wheedling or teasing had been able to draw my big brother from the spiralling dread he had entered into since that announcement. It had been days before he had even dared broach the subject with me and even then it had been blurted out in response to my incessant mocking. He had gone white as a sheet and  _begged_ me to speak of it to nobody – ' _I just need more time! Just a little longer until I tell them, Brother,_ please!' – and after that I had known it was only a matter of time before he did so. We had discussed and practiced what he would say, what Mama and Uncle would say, and how they would respond for  _weeks_  now. The  _longest_ weeks of my  _whole life_!

I thought we had been ready.

I thought they would understand. I  _told_  him they would understand.

Mother made an odd whimpering noise behind one hand. "Fíli …" was all she said then, hand stopping just short of stroking my brother's cheek as her eyes searched his and found no hint of what she sought. Suddenly, she withdrew her hand and straightened, turning immediately to our uncle. As one, my brother and I turned back to our uncle. Within moments, Fíli's stare, along with his hands, dropped to his lap and I watched as several fat tears splashed upon his folded hands. As I surreptitiously reached out one hand beneath the table to wipe the splashes away, he seized my hand in his with such desperation I wanted to drag him away to the haven of our room where he would not see Mama's  _disappointment_  or Uncle's so calmly concealed  _fury_. Reluctantly – and attempting in vain to ignore the trembling of my brother's jaw – I dragged my gaze back to Thorin. I don't know whether it was the resumed silence in the room or the speed at which he did it but our uncle's suddenly launching himself out of his seat and away from us all still made both myself and my brother cringe away from him as though we might be hit.

"Uncle – " Fíli began in the smallest of voices, one hand still holding on to mine so tightly that it hurt. At the same time, our mother turned too, stepping towards her brother with a surprisingly calm "Thorin?"

"Get him out of my sight."

I felt Fíli's hand go lax in mine, every part of him deflated like a burst skin.

"Uncle," Fíli whispered beside me, " _Please._ "

"Sister…"

Mother dithered for a second but taking in the way my uncle's back positively shook with barely controlled rage, she beckoned Fíli up, bodily lifting him from his chair when he shook his head.

"No," he protested, pulling himself from her grip and gesturing desperately towards Thorin, "Mother –  _Mama_  – if he'd only let me  _explain_ , I – "

" _DÍS_!"

At Thorin's bellow, Fíli cast one last distraught look at each of us before fleeing the room as fast as his legs could have carried him. I don't know why I didn't follow him. When he had gone, the room seemed to shrink in upon itself until there was nought left but me, my uncle's rage and mother's devastation; the air filled with such tension that for a moment I thought I would explode from…from…I couldn't even have said what  _I_  felt. I was utterly miserable, that much was certain. I almost resented Fíli for ruining the day with such an announcement. Almost. Mostly I was glad he had finally got it over with. At least now that our family knew, they might be able to come to some agreement; preferably one that did not involve Fíli being cast out for good – I'd go with him if it did, just let them try to stop me! Why shouldn't Fíli have had his say? Tonight was as good as any other time! His abdication was never going  _please_ Mother and Uncle Thorin so why  _shouldn't_ he have spoken up today?

It had taken such bravery! Such courage for my big brother to speak his mind even though he knew they would despise hearing it! Wasn't that what Mr Balin was  _trying_ to drill into us both? Sometimes, as leaders, one has to speak the truth whether others will like it or not. Really, Mother and Thorin ought to be proud. I certainly was; I had never been so proud of my big brother in all my life!

So why hadn't I said that to begin with?  _Why_ had I not spoken up? I had never had such trouble before! I was  _incensed_ at my own cowardice! It seemed every day now that I found myself just about ready to take up arms against my uncle at the slightest disagreement blown out of all proportion; I daresay I would have were it not for the complete certitude of my humiliating defeat. Was I truly so terrible a brother that I would bring Thorin's anger down upon myself (and Fíli, since he never could stay out of it for too long) for even the most ridiculous things but would not dare to even voice my support when my own, most beloved brother defied our uncle on so colossal an issue as this? And then of course was my mother! I could hardly believe she could have been so heartless as to side with Thorin over her own  _son_. She glanced at my uncle, twisting the rings around her fingers before stopping and going to his side. He barely turned his head as she raised one hand to his back, resting her chin on his shoulder and murmuring words that I could not make out. After a moment, she drew back and Thorin nodded slowly, letting out a sigh so immense his entire body seemed to deflate.

I, on the other hand…My whole body felt stiff and squirmy – I wanted to crawl out of own skin! I had to say something, do  _something_! Fíli would never have stayed silent if our places were reversed. I picked at my clothing, wondering whether I could just slip out the door without them even noticing. I was ust as much Fili's brother as he was mine! Did I not owe him the same bravery and support he  _always, without fail_  showed me? Maybe I ought just to hold my tongue. Like as not, I was only going to make everything worse. My eyes burned.

"How could you do that?" I blurted out before I could stop myself.

"Kíli …" my mother dragged out my name – a warning evident in her tone.

"No!" I surprised even myself, slamming my fist down upon the table as I rounded it to meet them – I had started now, might as well be done with it. "How  _could_  you?!"

"Kíli,  _inùdoy,_ please. This does not concern you," Mama raised her hands as if to cup my face but I ducked away. She sighed. "You do not understand."

I snorted at that – everybody's answer to  _everything_. ' _You do not understand, Kíli'_. Even Fíli had been known to Dismiss me thus. It never failed to make my blood boil. To my family and to those closest to us, I was always too young, too unworldly, too much the archer, too much Fíli's baby brother, too much the youngest son, too much  _my father's_  son. How was it possible that I could always be ' _too much'_  of anything and yet  _never be enough_?! I would  _make_ them see – I would  _never_  be too much or too little of  _anything_ not to defnd my brother when he needed it…I was just a little  _late_  in doing so.

"I understand that – " I paused, scrabbling for words in the wake of my staggering distress. Scowling at my uncle's refusal even to acknowledge me as I spoke and acutely aware that despite my having grown a good inch or so this year he still towered over me, I stood behind him, shaking from my righteous anger that he could treat my older brother this way. He would listen. I would  _make_ him listen. "I understand," I began again, and though my voice was still a little tremulous, it grew stronger and louder with each breath, "that you care more about your people than about Fíli. They don't  _need_  an heir – they have you! He doesn't  _want_ this! He doesn't  _want_ to be king. Why can't you see that?  _WHY DON'T YOU CARE_?!"

"ENOUGH!"

He whirled around to face me so quickly that in my shock I tripped over my own feet and landed sprawled on the floor, one hand flying to where I had thumped my head rather spectacularly against my mother's discarded chair on my way down. Though half dazed by the pain, I heard her shocked cry of " _Oh_ ,  _Kíli!"_ and felt her kneeling at my side, pulling me to her chest and stroking my sore head, soothing tears that I had not intended to shed, _comforting_  me when I did not wish to be comforted! Not by her at least. Through vision that danced and swirled and swam before me I was just able to discern the immediate change in my uncle's demeanour as he crouched before me, one hand righting the chair before reaching out to grasp my shoulder that was not currently pressed tightly up against my mother.

"Kíli?" He shook his head with a sigh when I didn't answer him, instead opting to press my face further into my mother's comfort. "Are you very hurt?" he asked and I wanted to sob all the harder for the fact that this was _exactly_ the sort of concerned understanding they ought to have shown Fíli earlier. Despite my loyalty for my brother however, every inch of me wanted in that moment to stay there forever with my mother's urgent hushing and her embrace and my uncle's familiarly fierce concern and his warm hand rubbing up and down my arm. Suddenly however I caught movement in the corner of my eye, an indistinct shadow in the darkness of the hallway, which swam and wavered as I looked at it. My heart froze for a second and I closed my eyes, willing away the tears and the throbbing pain as I pushed myself upright, out of Mama's arms and back to the plunging depths of fear and uncertainty to which I had become so accustomed to this past week since Fíli had confided in me. I scrubbed one arm across my face and tried to summon some self-control.

"He's scared," I said, feeling my heart sink as Thorin's face hardened and he lurched to his feet once more. Sniffing, I turned to my mother who was still stroking my hair gently. "Mama, he's  _so_  scared."

I never could quite decipher the look that passed between them then, but Mama kissed my head and murmured, "I  _know_ , Kíli," in my ear. Then Uncle was lifting me to my feet and refusing to look me in the eye and suddenly I was being ushered into the darkened hall with a firm "It is late, Kíli, you ought to be asleep" which was just about close enough to another ' _you don't understand, Kíli'_  for me to feel justified in giving the parlour door a harsh kick as Mama closed it. The raised eyebrowed look she gave me as she flung it open again was enough to send me scarpering down the corridor to my room.

As I reached it however, I paused and glanced back up the corridor. The parlour door had crept open slightly again and a thin sliver of flickering light was being cast towards me. I hesitated a moment then shrugged to nobody in particular – eavesdropping becomes a necessary and instinctual skill when one's family refuse to treat you like an adult until you actually are one. I turned and tiptoed slowly back up the hall, careful to keep out of the light.

Standing in the shadow, my head pressed against the wall as I peered through the crack, I could see them. I nearly lost the breath I had been holding. They stood together – my mother and  _her_  big brother – his arms around her, head bowed against hers as she spoke. I didn't think she was crying but I didn't think I had ever seen her look so heartbroken in all my life. Well, perhaps during the winter when each of us had in turn fallen foul of some sickness that had taken more than its fair share of our people with it. Still, her eyes seemed far away, as though she wasn't  _seeing_  what was before her, and she clutched at my uncle's forearm as if it were a lifeline. I could not make out what she was saying save for snatches here and there but one would have to be an  _elf_  not to be able to guess. I heard mentions of names I knew – Thrain, mostly – and several times Mama stopped speaking altogether and when she did Thorin's low rumble would fill the silence though I hadn't the faintest idea what he said, buried as his words were in my mother's hair.

"Tali never wanted this for them," my mother suddenly raised her face; drawing back to look into Thorin's for a long moment.

"No, he didn't," Uncle agreed, his gaze fixed on some unoccupied corner of the room. At the mention of my father I had crept closer, so close that if either of them were to look my way they were certain to see me but…still, they so rarely spoke of him, and this was so important a subject. It felt as though if I could only know  _his_ opinion on it then the whole matter would be settled.

"But he accepted it."

Uncle made a non-committal noise in his throat. "As I recall we hardly gave him much choice in the matter."

"But he did," Mama insisted, stepping back completely and taking my uncle's face in her hands. She hesitated, presumably waiting for him to look at her. "When he… _passed_ , I never questioned – not once – what he intended when he gave  _our_ sons to you. He  _meant_ that, Thorin. No councillors forcing his hand, no cousins of ours whispering in his ears, no…no us  _demanding_ it of him. Brother, he gave them to you – everything that my sons are and everything they will be – and he did it freely. And you have never doubted that before now."

I bit my lip, knowing in all certainty that I should not – was never intended to – hear such deeply private things spoken about my father. And as if that were not bad enough, my absolute belief in my uncle's inability to be shaken by anyone or anything was about to be shattered.

"But they have never looked at me as they did tonight," he stepped away from her and I knew he was looking to where Fíli and I had sat earlier. He shook his head as though clearing it. "As though…how could he think that of me? Of  _us,_ Dís? That I would – that I  _could_  – force him? Or that you would ever  _allow_ me to do so?" Suddenly, he turned towards the door and I ducked into the shadows behind it, hoping against hope that I had not been spotted. There was movement in the parlour and I considered fleeing to the relative safety of my room but reflected that they knew I was here – running away would do no good now. Still, I squished myself further into the darkness, pressed my eyes together and held my breath and somehow – miraculously – the footsteps receded and I heard a chair being dragged out from under the table, a heavy weight dropping into it with a sigh. "We should not  _have_  to force him."

I peered through the gap again and, though my view of them was mostly obscured now I could just make out Thorin's huge form at the table, head resting in one hand. Beside him, my mother reached out and took his hand into hers; he looked up at her, his mouth just briefly softening into a smile I had only ever seen bestowed upon her. I could not see her face but I assumed she had returned the smile and he suddenly heaved a great sigh as she reached out one hand and drew his head in to rest against her stomach, leaning over him and murmuring to him as she often did with us. I felt colour rising in my cheeks. Though I was still angry with them both, still fearful and despairing for my brother I felt as though I had never seen more intimate a scene between them and my being there felt  _wrong_. I fidgeted for a minute, waiting to see if they would say anything else but when they did not speak I turned and crept as quietly as I could back down to my bedroom.

Fíli's breathing hitched and he looked up as I entered. His face looked blotchy, his eyes red and sore looking but dry. I didn't speak. We stared at one another. Suddenly, he gave an almighty sniff and beckoned me over with a nod of his head. I practically hurled myself across the room and onto our bed, burying my face in his stomach and wrapping both arms about him.

"Kíli?" he asked thickly, shifting beneath me to get a better look. "Are you all right?" When I didn't answer, he pulled me closer to himself, one hand holding my arm across his waist and the other moving to brush hair back from my face. "Shh," he murmured, and I wanted to laugh because honestly, wasn't  _he_ the one who needed comforting? But he repeated it, as he always did, rubbing my arm gently just like our uncle did. The blanket beneath us was scrunched up and damp with tears where Fíli had been left all alone to console himself while I had been able to shout and rage and be hugged and comforted even though I was only injured through my own clumsiness because if our Uncle wanted to strike me then well, I had given him so much better reasons in the past and he had never done so and I should have come and found Fíli in here so much sooner than I had done and I wanted to wail and laugh and scream all at once because I had never been so grateful in my entire life to be the youngest! And suddenly: "Shhhh, Kíli, what happened?"

I hiccupped and sat up a little, suddenly aware that I had been all but sobbing into his stomach and that if  _I_  felt this wretched at the unfairness of all this then my poor brother would feel it tenfold. I sat back from him, trying my hardest to calm down because absolutely the most selfish thing I could possibly have done was to come in here and act as though this was about  _me_  and how afraid and miserable it was all making  _me_. And that was exactly what I seemed to have done. Fíli shifted us both around until he was still mostly sat up but I could rest against his stomach where he could see me. Through eyes that felt like I had cried for a decade, I could see his face gazing at me as though I was the only person in the world who had ever encountered this sort of upset. And maybe I was, because my anguish was nothing compared to his and maybe nobody ever  _had_ felt this way – maybe Fíli truly was the first descendant in any royal line to have ever  _rejected_  the throne.

"I banged my head," I admitted, suddenly becoming aware of the fact that my head might split open at any moment.

"I heard you scream," he nodded, and I knew without a doubt that it had been him in the hallway come to see what horror had befallen me.

"Didn't  _scream_."

He smiled a little at my indignant mumbling but then frowned. "Where did you hit it?"

"On one of the chairs in the…" I trailed off, realising what he meant before leaning forward and guiding his hand over the sorest part of my skull. He made a soft noise of sympathy before urging me down again.

"I  _think y_ ou're going to have a tremendous scar," he informed me.

"Really?"

He smiled – properly this time – and shook his head, ruffling my hair a little. "No, Kíli. If you were but a few years older you'd barely have felt it!"

I tried not to sulk too much at that. And really, it wasn't hard because no sooner had Fíli ascertained that I was indeed still in one piece than he was pushing me back down and looking as forlorn as I could ever recall seeing him.

"So…"he began, not looking at me anymore, "Are they…I suppose they're both still very angry?"

I frowned, considering it for a few moments. They certainly  _seemed_ angry but… "I think they're disappointed and…sad."

Fíli's face crumpled. "Kíli! Oh, Kíli, that's  _worse_! Don't you see how much  _worse_ that is?" he covered his face with one hand, before adding so quietly that I was unsure if he was even speaking to me, "I should never have said anything."

I had no answer to that. I wondered if telling him what I had overheard would help – whether knowing that our father had knowingly given us (him) over to this destiny would make him feel better or worse. Or that our Uncle had as good as said that if Fíli continued to refuse then he would not force the issue but that it was some failing on Fíli's part that they should  _have_ to force it. I wriggled closer to him and squeezed my arms back around his waist. Since I had nothing else to offer, no words of wisdom or comfort that would make any difference whatsoever, I told him. He was quiet for a long while afterwards, one hand running distractedly through my hair.

"You heard them say all of this?"

I nodded. "Maybe they'll listen tomorrow," I murmured, craning my head to look into his face, "Maybe Uncle will understand."

"Maybe," he agreed, frowning.

* * *

Through my haze of exhaustion – Fíli had fallen asleep several hours ago but I was determined to stay wakeful and watchful lest somebody upset him further – I was aware of footsteps approaching and stopping outside our door. I tried not to tense too much. Fíli needed to stay asleep – he needed to! – he needed to sleep so that he could stand and face our uncle in the morning and not flinch or tear up as I had so that our uncle could see my brother was not acting the petulant child. He was a grown up, making a decision over  _his_ future. But also – and I tried not to think on it over much - I didn't think  _I_  could take  _any_ more shouting that night. I was sorry for my brother, truly I was but I felt as though one more angry word from any of us would set me to bawling for the rest of my life! So I remained still and quiet and tried to keep breathing even though I wanted to hold my breath and bury my face in Fíli's shirt and pray to Mahal that they would just  _go away_.

No such luck. The door opened slowly and I just had time to make out my mother's face and uncle's silhouette before the candle between them was extinguished. Plunged into darkness once more I could not help but jump when a hand landed upon my shoulder and a voice in my ear murmured, "Come here to me, Kíli."

As much as I knew I ought to refuse – at least protest – I was defenceless to that voice, the warm strength in the hands that were now gently extricating me from my brother, and almost without conscious thought I found myself slipping from the bed and set on the floor beside my mother. With her arm around my shoulders, I could just make out the dim figure of my uncle leaning across the bed towards my brother. I wanted to warn Fíli, wanted to stamp and order them out of our room again but I couldn't. I hadn't the strength in me to do so anymore that night and really, as I watched Uncle pull Fíli from his wedged-against-two-walls position and lay him down on the bed with barely a whimper of protest from my brother, I realised I hadn't the reason. Fíli came awake slowly, and then all at once, barely opening his eyes before they became wide as saucers as he set eyes on our uncle.

"Uncle?" this said with a cringe as he began to sit up only to be stopped by Thorin's hand urging him back down.

"In the morning," Thorin said quietly and with a heavy sigh, "We shall…we shall talk in the morning."

Fíli glanced at Mama and me, back to Thorin, then down at his pillow; he nodded quickly, pressing his lips together and tuning his face into the pillow. Thorin stood, made as though to stroke Fíli's hair but thought better of it and turned back to us. Mama bent and pressed a kiss to my head before passing Thorin and silently laying down facing Fíli on the bed. Quite suddenly, I found myself airborne as I was plucked from the floor and carried away from the bed, my feet dangling some two feet off the floor. Some part of me recognised and was vaguely outraged by what a liberty my uncle was taking – I was almost 40 years old! Too old to be carted about on my uncle's hip like some wee dwarfling who could not be trusted to walk for themselves. Still, the larger part of me was still shaken by the evening's quarrel and was too grateful that it seemed to be over for now to be anything other than  _glad_  to be held, safe and secure in Uncle's arms as I had been so many times before. Indignant or not, I pressed my face into his neck – just for a moment.

Behind us, I heard Mama commanding quietly, "Hush,  _inùdoy,_ come to me," and I chanced a look back over Uncle's shoulder. Mama raised one hand to remove my brother's hands from where he was attempting to hide his face from her and I just had time to glimpse Fíli wriggle forward to be quickly wrapped up in our mother's arms before Uncle and I were back out in the corridor and the door was shut with a soft ' _thunk'_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inùdoy - my son


	9. Adventure - Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili's in charge of his first adventure but it doesn't go quite as planned.
> 
> "The bridge creaked and groaned as one of my friends – I did not dare look back – started to make their way back across. I did not say so, but I dearly hoped they did not intend to go one a time as we had before. If I had to stay on this side alone for one second longer than necessary I felt as though I might expire from fear and then whatever monster it was that was creeping towards us through the shade would eat me up and that would be the end of Fíli, son of Dis. I only hoped Kíli would make a better job of captaincy than I had."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The recognisable characters etc. don’t belong to me. Although there are several inconsequential OCs in this one who do but I’m not attached.
> 
> Well guys, it's the usual excuses. Mostly, I just haven’t felt like writing and when I have, I’ve had access to neither pen and paper nor laptop. Hopefully this mammoth chapter makes up for it a bit - it’s a bit more child-focused than I normally do but I hope it works. Ages are really up to you, Kíli is still very young so go figure but it’s /SOMEWHERE/ between chapter 1 & 2 and chapter 8.
> 
> I am going to respond to all comments, I really am. I swear.

* * *

Kíli’s eyes were upon me as I searched for my boots. Though I had my back to him, I could _feel_ the forlorn gaze being directed my way. I braced myself for the pleas I knew were coming – _take me with you, Fíli? Pleeease let me come, Fíli –_ I wasn’t going to be swayed though; I was going on an adventure. No! I was _leading_ an adventure! And I wasn’t about to do so with my younger brother traipsing along beside me moaning about how his _‘feet hurt’_ or _‘it’s_ so _dark!’_ or ‘ _Fíli? Carry me, I’m tired!’_

From the bed, I heard shuffling, and I glanced over to see my little brother hugging his knees and watching me in silence, clearly waiting for me to acknowledge that he was awake. Well, he could go on waiting. Minutes passed and Kíli’s impatient huffs grew ever louder, his dark brows drew nearer and nearer together and, just when I thought I would have to acknowledge him soon or risk him exploding from the effort of keeping quiet, he spoke. Well…he whined.

“But _why_ can’t I come?”

“Kíli, I said no. I said it yesterday, I said it last night and I’m saying it now – no!” He opened his mouth to interrupt but I quickly added, “And if you keep _whining_ about it, then I shan’t let you come next time either!”

That ended my brother’s protests immediately but only for all of ten seconds, before:

“But Fíli, whyyy?” He cried out, head thrown back and face scrunched as he bemoaned the utter unfairness of the situation.

“Because… ” I stopped, huffed as I stared about the room – how could two boots which I had removed less than twelve hours ago have _vanished_ into thin air?! “Because...Kíli, have you seen my shoes?”

“ _Why_ can’t I come?”

“Because I said so! Have you seen my boots?”

“But whyyyy?”

“Kíli! _Have you seen my_ – ” I broke off, felt my eyes narrow as he ever-so-casually drew the blankets up over his head and curled tighter until all I could see of him were two eyes blinking fretfully at me from within his little sanctuary. “Did you _hide_ my boots?” Silence and a tiny shake of his head were my only reply. “Kíli…” I said, drawing out his name as I took several steps towards him. The head shaking became more vigorous but he raised his head long enough for me to see the wicked smile he was trying so desperately to hide from me. I shook my head; poor _poor_ little brother. Did he really think he could hide _anything_ from me once I knew he was doing so? I who knew every hiding place he had – who had in fact _taught_ him most of them?

“All right, Kíli,” I sighed, already compiling a list of hiding places in which he could have stashed my shoes, “Are they outside?” More head shaking. “Are they still in the room?” Another shake but accompanied by a badly stifled giggle. I nodded once to myself. “Are they in the cupboard?” More giggling but still, he shook his head. I wandered over and looked anyway – I had already searched in there but there was no harm in checking. No luck.

“Are they…under the bed?” I asked after we had gone on for some time and I was running out of places to look. Still more head shaking. I huffed and began to feel real disappointment setting in. I was going to miss it! I was supposed to be leading and I was going to _miss the adventure!!!_ And all because my stupid brother refused to tell me where my blasted shoes were! “Kíliii, give them back…” Drat him! Now I was whining too! I dropped on to the bed, smacking him in the shin as I did so. But it wasn’t bare skin beneath the blanket that I had struck. The little _wretch_ – he was _wearing_ my boots! With a squeak as he realised the jig was well and truly up, Kíli dove away from me and threw himself beneath the bed, backing away as far he could until his back hit the wall and he was out of reach of my grasping hands.

“Fíli, nooooo!” he squealed seemingly as much from delight as from fear as I joined him beneath the bed and grabbed at his kicking ankles.

“Shh! Kíli, be quiet!” I tried to stay annoyed but this was too much fun. Kíli’s kicking had already half-bared one of his feet – for all our patient(ish) tutoring, he had yet to perfect tying laces himself – and I seized my opportunity. “You’re going to wake Mama!” I scolded even as I pulled him closer and the shoe completely off and began to run one finger up and down the sole of his foot – much to his horror. His struggling intensified, as did his stifled squealing as he writhed and twisted to get away from me.

“Nooo! Fíli, _please_!” He begged between laughs, “You…you’re going to…to wake Unc – Fíli _please stop!_ – You’re going to wake…Uncle…Thorin!”

“I’m not even speaking!” I hissed indignantly, but I stopped my assault on his foot. Fun as this was, I hadn’t the time for it and I _certainly_ did not want our uncle _or_ our mother descending on us to find me fully clothed and about to sneak away in the middle of the night. “ _Fine_ ,” I sighed, and retreated out from under the bed, “are you coming out or not?”

There was silence for a moment as Kíli considered his options. “Can I come to town with you?” he asked, suddenly appearing from the darkness and poking his head out hopefully. We gazed at each other for a moment until finally:

“All right.”

“Thanks, Fíli!” Kíli all but shouted as he scrambled out from under the bed and hurled my other boot at me before hurriedly donning his own.

“It’s snowing, you know. Put a coat on,” I told him as I finished lacing my own boots and hurried towards the door, grabbing my recently found walking stick as I did so, “I’ll make sure there’s no one about.”

* * *

 

“Fíli?”

I sighed, but continued through the previously untouched snow as though I hadn’t heard my brother speak.

“Fíli?” he repeated plaintively, slipping one hand into mine as he hurried to keep up with me.

“What? Come on, Kíli, we’re almost there. Look! There they all are, by the well, do you see?”

Kíli ‘mm-ed’ uncertainly. “Fíli, m’tired. I want to go home.”

“We only just left!”

“But I’m tired!” Kíli repeated, stopping entirely and pulling at my hand until I had no choice but to stop too or else drag him along through the snow like a sack.

“Kíli,” I began firmly, turning and kneeling before him and taking both hands in mine as our elders often did, “You wanted to come – you _begged_ me to let you come – I told you last night that you’d be sleepy and cold and probably scared but you still begged me to bring you with me tonight.” He pouted mightily but did not protest. “So, no, Kíli. We aren’t going home until _I’m_ good and ready, do you understand?”

He sniffled and pulled one hand free to rub at his eyes and I began to feel like the most heartless, cruel older brother any dwarfling anywhere had ever e _ver_ had but then someone whispered my name and another friend echoed it and suddenly I found myself saying “Kíli, _please_? I _promise_ we won’t be out long.” He sniffed again and glanced longingly back towards our warm home.

“Fíli?” A voice whispered, closer now than before. “Is that you?”

“Fíli, I want to go home… _please_?”

Not taking my eyes off my brother’s, I called back that it was indeed me. “All right, fine,” I told my brother quickly as I stood and turned away, “I only agreed to let you come to town anyway – I never said you could come with us. You can go home now; only you’d better be quiet or Mama will catch you and then what will you do?”

He blinked, probably shocked that I wasn’t offering to go home with him.

“You brought Kíli with you?”

I closed my eyes and felt my head drop slightly as my friend Bödi joined us. I wasn’t sure whether he sounded pleased about our new recruit or not; it was always difficult to tell with him. Opening my eyes and glancing at between the two of them, I hesitated, frustrated by Kíli’s change of heart but not certain if I was annoyed enough to force him now that he was here. Not to mention the fact that this was supposed to be _my_ adventure with _my_ friends. But my friend’s disbelief was rankling me – Kíli wasn’t a baby anymore, why shouldn’t he come with us as long as he was willing to follow my orders and not get in the way? And it was me who was leading our quest, not Bödi, so what right did he have to decide who could or could not come?

“He wanted to come,” I shrugged at last, deciding to opt for nonchalance rather than go straight for defiance. After all, a good leader wins support through sound judgment and consideration of other’s counsel, not by threatening others into following him. Willing Kíli to agree with me, I added hopefully, “Didn’t you, Kíli?”

I felt heat rise in my face when Kíli did not answer. He fidgeted, he toyed with the frayed edging on his coat, looked everywhere but at us before finally glancing up at my tall friend, with something of a tremor. “Didn’t you, Kíli?” I repeated, more firmly. Kíli scowled and sent me a positively hateful look, then he took an enormous, shuddering breath and started to nod slowly his eyes now fixed firmly on the ground again.

I breathed a sigh of relief and grinned. “Here,” I said proudly, handing him my walking stick – every good adventurer brings a stick, “You can have this, if you like.”

That at least seemed to cheer him up and make him forget how tired he was for the time being. He ran ahead of us to join Lofn at the well, kicking clouds of snow up into the air as he went.

“Will he be all right?” Bödi asked quietly as we walked. “He’s not exactly dressed for adventure, Fíli.”

In my haste to come out before my two friends left without me, and in being so determined he would not embarrass me by suddenly refusing to come when I had argued his place, I had overlooked one rather major flaw in so quickly changing my mind and allowing Kíli to come. Though Kíli had thankfully donned his coat as I had ordered, it was hastily thrown over his nightclothes, which, though better than nothing were hardly fitting attire for a warrior marching out to adventure in the icy pre-dawn.

“Kíli,” I heard Lofn say just as we reached them, “Aren’t you going to be cold?”

My brother cast a fearful glance at Bödi and me before shaking his head earnestly, eyes wide.

“Are you sure?” Lofn knelt before him and began tying his boots for him – another thing I had neglected in my haste, it was a wonder he hadn’t tripped over yet. As leaders of quests went, I had not made a very good start thus far.

“I’m fiine!” Kíli said quietly, his lower lip beginning to jut out slightly in what I could sense was about to become a most fearsome pout. “Fíli, you said I could come!” he added, turning to me with an accusing glare though I had not said a word. I cast a somewhat sheepish look at my counsel of warriors, both of whom were looking more sceptical by the second.

“Pleeease?”

“If he says he’s all right…,” said Bödi.

“Fíli, he’ll freeze!”

It was difficult to decide whose opinion I valued more – Bödi, who although we trained in the same class was in fact several years my senior and a fair few inches taller than me, or Lofn who despite her cheerful nature was currently fixing me with a scowl that would have done my mother and uncle proud.

“Fíli, we have to go!” Bödi declared impatiently, staring around as if one of our parents might pop up out of the snow at any moment, “Everyone will be waking soon and we’ll have to go to _lessons_!”

At his words, we all of us shuddered. _Lessons_. As if any of us needed reminding of the tedious hours we would be spending indoors if we didn’t at least start our adventure now. We needed a decision and we needed it at once. I was their leader. And leading was all about making difficult decisions that were for the good of as many people as possible; nobody could please everyone all the time. I nodded once, more to myself than anyone else.

“Kíli,” I began and he turned tear-filled eyes upon me. I hardened my heart, or rather, I cast my gaze to the frosted earth so that I could no longer see his hurt. “Kíli, you need to go home.”

“But –”

“You can come next time,” Lofn added, kneeling beside my little brother and wrapping one arm around his shoulders. “Kíli, we _swear_ you can come next time.”

As my little brother tried so hard to control his disappointment, it was all I could do not to call off the whole quest. Once again, I felt like the worst brother in the world. I most likely _was_ the worst brother in the world. Except perhaps Bödi’s older brother, who apparently once tried to drown him in a bowl of soup.

“But you said I could come…”Kíli pleaded, shuffling forwards to stand so close he was almost on top of me and gazing up at me with eyes full of hurt confusion.

“Well, yes, but…” I could give Kíli my coat? I was a fierce warrior; surely I could give my coat to Kíli and he could come along with us and he would be warm enough and…well, Lofn was right. He could come next time. He didn’t even want to come anymore – not really. He only wanted to come now because we had said he could not. If I were to go home too then he would not care a whit about it. He just didn’t want me to go and leave him out. Poor little brother though, to have me all but blackmail him into agreeing to come and then turn about and say he couldn’t – I dare say I would be hurt too if I were in his place. In fact, we could go another time and I could make sure my brother was dressed for adventure and would –

“You said I could come, FILI!”

“Kíli, I – OUCH!” I stared at him in shock – the little maggot kicked me! He didn’t even apologise for it! He stood there, scowling so much his eyebrows were practically touching and clenched his fists and – “Ow! Kíli, _stop it!”_

Momentarily blind with fury, I gave him a rough shove with both hands – more to get him away from me than to retaliate for his kicking me (twice!) – and he fell to the ground with a surprisingly loud thud. I bent and rubbed my shin where he had kicked me but in truth, the pain was already dimming to a dull ache. He hiccupped and sat up from where he had fallen, brushing his hands against his coat. I was still angry but…but his little face went slack and once more, tears filled his eyes and all of a sudden, he was crying. It looked as though he was crying properly too, not just the way he does sometimes when things don’t go his way or when we’ve both wronged each other but he wants Mama and Uncle to think he’s the one who has been wronged most. I’d hurt him. There was blood where he had wiped his hands and when he looked up, I could see the red scratches against his pale cheek where he had grazed it against the earth.

I wanted to apologise. I wanted to hug him and carry him home to find Mama who could kiss it better for him. I wanted him to stop looking at me as if I had mortally wounded him. I bit my lip, looking worriedly at my friends, none of whom seemed to want to look at either of us. _I wanted to apologise_.

“Kíli?” whispered Lofn, reaching out to help him up, “Are you all right? You’re not hurt are you?”

“’m telling Mama,” Kíli muttered, wiping at his eyes and rolling himself to his feet away from my friends and me.

“No, Kíli, don’t!” Bödi said immediately, stepping forwards and towering over my brother. “Please don’t tell anyone – look, you can come with us. We _want_ you to come with us.”

“No!” Kíli folded his arms and glared at me, hair flying as he shook his head. “No,” he repeated stubbornly, “I’m going to tell Mama.”

“Well go on then!” I said, suddenly finding my voice. “Go and tell Mama and when you do, you can tell her what a nasty little –” I swallowed back a word that I wasn’t brave enough to say, even if there were no grown-ups around, “– tell her how, how _annoying_ _you are!_ ”

We glared at each other for a moment and just when I was beginning to think it would never end, off he went. We watched him half-run back the way we had come until he rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. I sniffed, trying to look as though I were pushing the hair out of my eyes as I quickly wiped away the stinging in them.

“Let’s go,” I said loudly, grabbing my walking stick again and pushing past my friends towards the path we had planned.

“Fíli…maybe we shouldn’t –”

“No.” They stared at me, clearly uncomfortable but fell in line as I declared firmly, “Come on, we’ve wasted bags of time already. Let’s go.”

And so our adventure began.

* * *

 

Despite the shaky start and although we barely spoke for at least the first hour, by the time the sun had well and truly risen we were having a fine adventure. I had singlehandedly rescued the fair Lady Lofn, who had promptly revealed herself to be a fearsome skin-changer who had been lying in wait for Bödi and me. After we had defeated the evil Lofn the skin-changer, we had climbed trees and although Lofn and I had suggested we be wood elves for a while, Bödi (as the eldest) had declared that far too frightening a quest for so early in the day. After all, elves could do all manner of evil spells and who knew what catastrophes even the mere mention of their name could cause.

Eventually, as I had known we would (not that my friends had believed that I had known) we came across a river. At least, we called it a river. It was no more than perhaps six yards or so across. Too far to risk walking across the treacherous ice that floated paper-thin across its surface but too narrow for the far side to seem _too_ foreign. We could smell the trees; see the birds that we had disturbed on our side of the river landing on the far side. We wandered up river a way, the bank steadily climbing until we stood atop steep banks and threw pebbles down onto the rocky swells below.

“If there were a bridge,” began Bödi, huffing out his breaths so that they swirled like white smoke in front of him, “we could cross over there. We might be the first dwarves _ever_ to set foot over there.”

“If there were a bridge, we’d know about it,” Lofn pointed out, crawling forwards on her stomach to peer over the edge of the bank. She pulled back, sighing and clapping her gloved hands together. “Do you think we ought to go back now?”

“No!” I cried, immediately sitting up from where I had been lying looking up at the wintry sun and trying to determine the time. “I mean, there _might_ be a bridge. In fact,” I added hurriedly, “I’m _certain_ there’s a bridge.”

My friends glanced at each other sceptically and I felt injustice rise up in me. “Didn’t I say there was a river? Didn’t _you_ both say there wasn’t?” They nodded reluctantly. “ _And_ , didn’t we say _I’m_ the leader?” More nods. “Well, as _leader_ of our army, I think we should find the bridge.” And I jumped up and prepared to do just that.

None of us spoke as we hiked our way higher up the hill. Every so often, one or other of us would pull the others to a halt, certain we had seen or heard something in the undergrowth beside us. The first few times it happened, I rather thought we were still playing – an orc, an elf or any manner of creature could be stalking us ready for us to pounce upon it as we had earlier in the day. But the more frequently my friends saw it, the more concerned they seemed to become and nobody made any mention whatsoever of pausing our trek in favour of ridding the world of whatever fell beasty was following us. I tried to keep an ear open for any sound that there really was something following us but the sound of the gushing water below us seemed ever louder and drowned out any other noise. I didn’t feel much like talking anymore. Truthfully, I was cold, tired, and slightly afraid and my boots must have had a hole somewhere because one them felt positively soaked through with melted snow. And to make matters worse, not only would I be facing at the very least a stern talking to for avoiding lessons all day long, there were also bound to be consequences for sneaking off in the middle of the night to do so not to mention inciting my friends to do the same. Not that it hadn’t been just as much their idea but I was, after all, the leader of our troupe so the responsibility did fall to me. And all that before I even began to contemplate what would await me at home now that Kíli had had all day to ‘improve’ on the story of how he had come by his injuries – no doubt I would arrive home to accusations of madness-driven murder attempts and Mama’s fiercest scowl and disappointed words not to mention my uncle’s reprimands. All in all, it might be better if whatever may or may not have been following us finished me off. It would surely be a faster, more merciful death than whatever awaited me at home tonight. All thought of these things flew from my head though at Bödi’s sudden exclamation.

“There _is_ a bridge,” he said in shock.

“Really?” I asked, hurrying forwards before correcting myself, “I mean of course there’s a bridge. I said there was one.”

We climbed the last few yards and finally stood at what seemed to be the top of the hill, the river was far narrower up here and fell down a rocky cascade before winding its way back down the way we had come – looking down, we had climbed a lot higher than I had realised. There was indeed a bridge. Sort of. It bridged the gap through the mists of the falling water but, though the ropes were still intact, and even the planks were mostly still in place, the whole thing had an abandoned, rotten look about it as though it had not been crossed in years – decades perhaps.

“Well?” Lofn grinned excitedly, “Let’s go!”

“NO!” cried my other friend and I, both reaching out to grab her as she made for the bridge.

“We can’t cross just like that!” I told her urgently. “There could be anything over there! _And_ it looks like it might fall apart at any moment!”

“Well, we can’t just look at it.”

“We can’t just cross it either!”

“You’re the leader, Fíli. I think you ought to go first.” Lofn declared suddenly, turning to me and brandishing her wooden training sword (cunningly borrowed from her house by the two of us when her parents were not looking).

I turned to our friend, hoping he might come to my rescue but he suddenly seemed very confident in the plan. He too dramatically brandished his ‘sword’ and ushered me towards the edge. “All right, I yield!” I laughed finally, turning and stepping forwards. “As your fearless leader,” I puffed out my chest proudly, “I shall go first.”

To their triumphant cheers, I took one tentative step onto the nearest plank grateful that with my back to them, they could not see my moment of utter terror as the bridge swayed gently under my weight. Step by dogged step I made my way across, thick slimy greenery squelching from between my fingers as I moved along the ropes with a white-knuckled grip. I paused once and cast a falsely confident grin back at my friends and loyal subjects, both of whom had retreated slightly and now watched my progress from behind their fingers, cringing with every step I took. Well, if that didn’t speak of their confidence in their leader…

I turned away, somehow feeling even less confident than I had before and for perhaps the first time appreciating how important the support of one’s comrades was on such quests. Seemingly out of nowhere, my feet suddenly found solid ground once more and my eyes, which I had barely been aware of closing, flew open in fear as my hands groped for ropes that were no longer needed. With whoops of delight, my companions both came forwards, Lofn elbowing Bödi from her path as they both vied to be next to cross. Confident that the path would hold them as it had me, I turned away and surveyed my new surroundings.

The trees grew thicker on this side, their spines covered by powdery snow that fell away silently as I brushed them. The earth, which had on _our_ side been covered in the thin white blanket, was dark and damp beneath its canopy of soaring pines. My Mama, Uncle and the rest of our kin – those from Erebor, who had grown up within halls carved from the mountains themselves rather than carven wood as my friends’ ancestors – were wary of these deep forests, I knew; though my father had gone some way to improving at least Mama’s feelings.

My breath caught in my throat as Lofn gave a surprised shout and I turned to see several birds fly twittering past her only to be silenced, engulfed by the black forest on the edge of which I now stood. The sound of the falls behind me seemed hushed and even my friends nervous laughter as they too made their way across seemed distant, muted by this new, alien place. Hairs rose on my skin and, almost involuntarily I felt my hand curl tighter around the wooden hilt of my sword. Was it cowardly to warn one’s companions away from somewhere with no earthly reason besides ‘I didn’t like it’?

“Fíli!” Lofn’s voice sounded in my ear, waking me from my stupor. “Fíli,” she repeated breathlessly, pulling at my hand and dragging me closer to the woods, “What do you think’s in there?”

I shook my head, glanced back as Bödi finally joined us on this side, having made his way across more slowly, presumably wary of his greater weight. “I don’t know.”

“HULLOOO!” Lofn’s laughter at my surprise died on her face as her shout was swallowed up by the forest and suddenly she too looked fearful.

“That thing that was following us,” I started hesitantly, trying to keep some semblance of bravery even while every instinct told me to run and not stop until I reached home, “What if…what if it was on _this_ side, not ours?”

Beside me, Lofn groaned and her hand found mine. “Fíli,” she whispered, “Please don’t. That isn’t funny anymore.”

I opened my mouth and would have told her that I hadn’t found it particularly funny to begin with but Bödi chose that particular moment to harshly grab hold of my arm and hurriedly whisper:

“What was that? I just saw something move over there.”

“I didn’t see anything,” I breathed as we all gazed into the darkness, stood so close together I swear I could feel their hearts beating.

“No,” Lofn said, shakily brandishing her sword at the deserted woods, “No, I saw it too. Something _moved_. Fíli, I want to _go back_.”

As one, we started to retreat. I could sense the river getting nearer behind us, could feel both of my friends grasping blindly behind them for the ropes that would guide us back across to safety. I could not take my eyes off the darkness before me, my eyes burned against the cold air as I fought the instinct to close them even for the time it would take to _blink_.

“We’re there,” Bödi breathed from behind me, his voice still wavering, “I…I’ll wait. You two should go first.”

_Yes! Let me go first! Please, do not make me stay here by myself!_ I wanted to scream it but still I found myself just barely squeaking out, “No...You go.”

“Fíli…”

“’m Captain – do what I say!”

The bridge creaked and groaned as one of my friends – I did not dare look back – started to make their way back across. I did not say so, but I dearly hoped they did not intend to go one a time as we had before. If I had to stay on this side alone for one second longer than necessary I felt as though I might _expire_ from fear and then whatever monster it was that was creeping towards us through the shade would eat me up and that would be the end of Fíli, son of Dis. I only hoped Kíli would make a better job of captaincy than I had.

Movement in the dark caught my eye just seconds before the most almighty bellow I had ever heard rent the silence and I let out the most undignified, high-pitched scream of terror as I turned and threw myself across the bridge, my sword lying forgotten where I dropped it as I fled. Lofn was fortunate to have reached the far side of the river or I may well have pushed her in in my haste to reach safety. As it was, the two of us reached the haven of ‘our’ side and without so much as a backwards glance took to running faster than I ever knew I could through the sparser trees, Bödi thundering along ahead of us.

“Did you see it?”

“No,” Lofn cried from my left as we ran, “It was hidden by the trees – I couldn’t see it at all!”

“I saw it,” declared Bödi over his shoulder, “It was big – _really_ big – and it, it nearly grabbed me! I felt it touch my leg!”

“Me too! I think I did see it after all – did you see its horns?”

I did not know what I had seen or heard. I did not _care_ what I had seen. All that was in my mind was that I must find Uncle Thorin and Mister Dwalin, and just about anybody able to wield a weapon and have whatever it was we had seen brutally and immediately despatched back to whatever foul, twisted Halls it had come from. And I must find Mama and my little brother and I must keep them _safe_ until the deed was done – even if the very thought of the beast made me want to hide in my Mama’s embrace and never _ever_ come out.

Beside me, Lofn gave a scream as she fell to the ground and I paused barely a second to yank her back up and drag her along with me again – trees whipping at our faces and our clothes snagging and tearing as foul hands reached out from the undergrowth and grabbed at us as we passed.

“PAPA!”

Ahead of us, Bodi’s yell rang out as he cleared the tree line and I looked up to see the trees growing less and less until finally I could see the town square where our adventure had begun what seemed like weeks ago. We were almost home!

That thought, along with how alarmingly fast the floor was rising up to meet me, and many variations on the word ‘ouch!’ passed through my head almost simultaneously as I caught one foot in a uncovered tree root and fell headlong into the ground just yards from the line which would have seen me back in the town centre and most likely only seconds away from safety. As it was, my face collided harshly with the frozen earth and I barely had time to register that my nose was bleeding before the monstrous hands, which had followed me from the far side of the river, and right through the woods on our side were once more reaching for me and I kicked out with my uninjured foot.

“Fíli!”

I kicked out again, blindly swung one arm and collided with a satisfying crack against something solid. I drew back to swing again when –

“FÍLI! That is enough!”

_What_? I blinked, once, twice, trying to focus on what was truly before me as opposed to the nightmare land I seemed to have crossed over into earlier.

“Fíli,” the voice repeated more softly, the hands – which now that I had calmed slightly were familiar and spattered not with blood, but with ink – “That’s enough.”

“Balin?” I whispered, my voice sounding hoarse even to my own ears, “Mister Balin?”

I was home. With that thought playing over and over in my mind, I hurled my trembling self into my tutor’s arms, for once welcoming that most hated of smells – ink and old parchment.

“Balin?” a woman’s voice broke through my thoughts, “Balin? Is he all right?”

“Mama!”

I turned to see my mama running towards us, looking positively terrified – had she seen the beast too? – She dropped to her knees beside me, only taking a second to determine how seriously I was injured before sweeping me into her embrace. She hushed my garbled explanation of the beast that had attacked us – of its being almost as tall as a full-grown human, with its three heads and long lines of small sharp teeth – and told me simply that we would worry about it later. I did not think it wise when at any moment it could come crashing out of the undergrowth behind us but I trusted my mother to know what was best to do in this situation.

I was _home_.

* * *

 

 

“Twenty feet high, you say?” My uncle repeated, tilting back on his chair and seeming entirely untroubled by the fearsome enemy that lay in wait for any unsuspecting dwarves who ventured the wrong side of the river.

“With _huuuge_ teeth!” said Lofn.

“And claws like _swords_!” I added, turning to my friends for support and in my eagerness nearly falling off the table on which I was sat.

“And it nearly got us!” Bödi said, pressing closer to his mother with a shudder of recollection.

“And it had…,” Uncle Thorin paused and rubbed one hand across his mouth, glancing very briefly at my mother who sat beside me with my injured ankle resting on her knees, “ _six_ heads was it?”

Lofn and I began to nod just as Bödi corrected, “No, there were seven – I saw them.”

Uncle cleared his throat, allowing all four of his chair legs to drop back to the floor before asking, “And, when you saw this beast, you were…?”

“By the river, Uncle…” I answered quietly, feeling my stomach clench, “We were by the trees on the other side of the river.” We had never been expressly forbade from going near the river but for the first time it suddenly occurred to me that this may have been one of the unspoken rules Mama had often said she ‘should not have to tell us’. My uncle ‘hmm-ed’.

“And ought we to expect an attack from this creature? Should I be rallying an army?” Again, my uncle raised his eyes to my mother’s and then glanced around at the assembled adults – Lofn’s father, Bodi’s parents, and my own family.

“YES!” my friends and I all cried at once.

“I see,” A pause, then: “A scouting party would not do, I suppose?”

“NO!”

To my left, Bödi’s father cleared his throat pointedly and my friends both added in more respectful tones, “No, Sir.”

“And what if I were to tell you that this beast has already been taken care of?” Uncle asked reasonably, the same strange twitch playing about his lips.

“Well, has it?” I challenged, immediately regretting it as my Uncle turned raised eyebrows upon me.

“Please, Sir, but…has it?” Lofn asked meekly, one hand straying to pull absently at the bandage now covering her other wrist.

Thorin did not reply for a moment, seeming to consider his response. “Of course, you needn’t fear that animal any longer.” Again, he shared a look with the grown-ups in the room that I could not decipher.

And that was that, more or less. My friends and their parents respectfully took their leave, and finally it was just my mother, uncle and I left. Not even Kíli was here to distract their attention. It might have been nice were it not for the pain my ankle was causing me, or the fact that since I had survived I would now have to face the consequences for the way I treated my brother, and for sneaking off with my friends on our ill-fated adventure. All in all, my first quest had been rather a resounding failure. The silence dragged on and I felt my breath growing tremulous again.

“You have had quite a day,” my uncle commented, standing and eyeing me appraisingly, “Though one assumes this is not _quite_ as you had planned it.”

I shook my head miserably, adding a not-entirely fake sniff for good measure. Call me optimistic but genuine upset with a healthy dose of melodrama were very much my only defence at present.

“Pity, it was well-executed until you came to return.”

I felt my face flush at the unexpected praise, feeling hope for my future blossoming once more as I took in the fond look currently being directed towards me.

“We knew of course,” Mama said sternly, coming to stand beside Uncle Thorin in front me, “what you had planned. You were not as sly as you thought.”

“Oh...” I dropped my gaze and slumped a little lower in my seat, “Kíli told you then.” Traitor. _I_ had been precisely as sly as I thought…it was _Kíli_ who had given the game away.

“I _told_ you he knew!” I heard a sharp smack and looked up to see my uncle glaring indignantly at my mother and rubbing his arm.

“He didn’t tell you?” I asked, the familiar guilt setting in as I recalled how angry I had been at him all day for the things I had imagined he would be telling them.

“No, he did not.”

Well… “Oh.”

“ _’Oh’_ indeed.”

“Is he going to be in trouble?” I winced.

“NOOOOOOOO!”

Mama had opened her mouth as if to speak but was interrupted by the mournful howl from outside in the hallway. We all of us paused, even Mama, who had been so stern in the face my uncle’s badly concealed amusement seemingly could not supress her exasperated laugh. Uncle shook his head, ruffling my hair as he passed by me on his way to the door and flung it open to reveal my little brother sitting cross-legged on the floor just outside.

There was a second’s pause as Kíli returned our uncle’s glare, looking almost indignantly up at him, presumably astounded at having been discovered eavesdropping when he had been doing so with such sneakiness. Almost immediately though that tremendous pout was transformed into the sweetest smile of which my baby brother was capable. He scrambled to his feet and, as though Uncle Thorin had opened the door as a personal favour to him, trotted on through to join us without a word.

“I suppose I had better leave you,” Uncle said now, returning to us and donning his coat, “There are monsters afoot and I should not like to have Dwalin take all the glory.”

Mama ‘mm-ed’, leaning towards him as if Kíli and I were not supposed to hear her words nor see the way she clutched his hand to her face, eyes closed as she warned him, “Beware that beast, Brother, I hear it has… _six_ _heads_.” And she turned away from me, one hand across her face and shoulders shaking fitfully as though she were crying – were it not for my injured foot I would have gone to comfort her upset.

“Seven!” I corrected immediately, wanting my uncle to be entirely clear on the danger he was facing despite the further concern it might bring my mother. Bödi had said seven and, though I had been doubtful at first, I had since recounted in my head and decided that the monster that had so nearly eaten us up did indeed have seven heads. I shuddered, unable to help myself.

Kíli, who had until then been cheerfully attempting without much success to haul himself up onto a chair beside me, released a startled squeak and repeated breathlessly, “ _Seven_ _heads_?”

“Aye, seven,” Uncle Thorin agreed solemnly, stooping and easily plucking Kíli up by the back of his jacket and plonking him down on his chair, “So you will both stay _at home_ tonight, where you mother can see you, yes?”

My brother and I both nodded quickly. I doubted I would be up for much adventuring for quite a while anyway – my ankle was _definitely_ broken beyond all repair and no number of healers would persuade me otherwise.

“You’ll be expecting food when you return, I presume?” Mama asked, arms crossed and seeming to have recovered from her worries.

“ ‘Course!” Kíli piped up, looking concerned, “All good quests end with a feast!”

“Of course,” our mother nodded seriously, moving forwards to push back the dark hair from Kíli’s face and examine his scrape from our argument that morning, “And who am I to argue when all three of you will have been in the wars by sundown?”

“What happened?” Uncle asked Kíli curiously, and for a moment I held my breath certain that Kíli was about to tell them everything and get me into worse trouble than I had already been in.

Kíli shrugged, a blithe smile on his face as he held both hands palms up above his head for Mama to see and pity him his further injuries. Mama tutted but to my relief neither of them pressed the matter further, instead Uncle took his leave and Mama began her preparations for dinner.

“Thank you for not telling them,” I muttered once Mama was far enough away not to hear. I turned to look at him and found him staring up at me, chin resting on folded arms. “I’m sorry I pushed you over.”

He frowned thoughtfully at me, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Did it really have seven heads?”

I nodded, deciding not to care that he had neither accepted my apology nor offered one of his own for hurting me first. “I think so.”

“Did it nearly gobble you up?”

Again, I nodded. He looked more annoyed than worried by the prospect but he did put both of his hands atop one of mine.

“Uncle Thorin’s going to kill it and wear its skin,” he informed me happily.

“Yes, he is.”

“He’s good at that.”

“Yes, he is.”

Suddenly, he released his hold on my hand slipped down from his chair. “I want bread,” he announced, half running past me before turning and trotting back to me, “Fíli…?”

“Yes, please, Kíli,” I said, grinning as he ran off again, wild hair flying as he unnecessarily sprinted the length of the parlour to where Mama was. When he returned, he all but threw his offering at me before struggling to heave himself back onto his chair, eventually giving up and sitting cross-legged beneath the table instead.

“Fíli?” he said, with only his face popping out from under the table, “If…if I promise I won’t be tired, please may I come questing with you?”

I hesitated, thinking of how awful I had felt about making him stay but also of the monster that had leapt out and tried to eat us all. But then again, Kíli was still very small. And devilishly fast too. He would probably be all right; we just needed to keep an eye on him. Besides, Uncle Thorin was out ridding us of that fell creature right now, so it would not be there to try to eat us ever again. So…

“All right,” I whispered, “But you’ll need to bring your own stick.”

He nodded happily, cramming the last of his bread into his mouth at once before asking in a spray of crumbs, “Fíli, are you _sure_ it had seven heads?”

I thought about it for a moment.

“Actually Kíli, I think it had _ten_.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a child, I was once playing in some woods and saw/heard a stag, and at the time the noise was terrifying and very loud; I panicked and legged it. Hence, this chapter.
> 
> So, for anybody who is worried for Thorin, don’t panic. He’s most likely heading out to fight a ‘twenty foot tall’ ‘ten headed’ deer.


	10. Grief - Dis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is technically around the same time as 'Passing' though it's afterwards and Dis' feelings and attitude towards Thorin and the world in general are a little more...negative. It's written to be in the same timeline but it doesn't have to be.

* * *

_Swear you’ll be mine...one day?”_

_Urgently, and in full view of my cousin who had crept so secretively from the inn behind us, he took my hands and held me still as he spoke.  I laughed, my head dizzied by our earlier celebrations – my brother, Lord of Ered Luin for fifteen years past! – I stepped closer to him, and kissed him without any thought of propriety or my cousin’s watchful gaze._

_“I have been yours,” I smiled, “Since the day we met.”_

_We danced that night beneath the canopy of the trees, wildly and without a care and with no music save for what notes drifted from the inn and the gentle, sweet-scented breath of the wind through the flowers.  Finally, we fell to the ground, breathless and made giddy by the night air and the knowledge that less than twenty feet away my cousin watched in silent – perhaps amused – resignation.  He shifted up on one elbow to look into my face, his red hair gloriously dishevelled and his nose still slightly crooked from our earliest days of courtship when my kin were neither so silent nor restrained in their disapproval.  I reached out one hand to stroke gently down that face, and through his wild mane, only stopping when he dipped his forehead to touch against mine._

_“Marry me?”  His breath was hot against my face and I withdrew.  Something like fear flickered in his gaze and he too retreated slightly, eyes flicking back to where our guard still waited._

_I nodded, unable to stop my joy from bubbling forth from my mouth even as my gaze grew watery.  I pulled myself close to him, giggling once more as he buried his face against my shoulder with a relieved laugh of his own._

_“Marry me,” he repeated with a grin in his voice as he raised his head to nudge his nose gently against mine as our kind in the North do.  “Marry me.  Marry me._ Marry me _.”_

_I fell asleep there, with him, with his breath against my face and the grass tickling at me where we lay._

 

* * *

 

I fell asleep with him and when I awake in my bed I have nothing but the ring he made me – misshapen and crudely formed with edges that are worn smooth by a mere decade of wear – to prove it had ever been any more than a dream.

 

* * *

“The world is a lesser place without him, that’s for certain.”

I blink, too wearied to do anything else.  My eyes feel raw; they itch and swim in turn as though I have been slaving over the forge for far too long.  

“You are not alone, you know,” he tries once more, reaching out as though he will pat my knee.  I shy away from him, curling my legs further into my chest.  He sighs, nods as though he had expected it before standing and pausing at my side, hands raised to tilt my face to his, his thumbs brushing at the dark hollows I know must be beneath my eyes.  “You know where I’ll be, Lassie, if I’m needed.”

We stare at each other and for a second I see the same compassionate gaze that I have known all my life, one that is full of the familiar promise of a warm embrace and soothing words in my ear as I mourn for the life I feel as though I barely glimpsed before it was snatched away from me.  The moment passes and that look is obscured by uncomprehending dullness, the only way in which I seem capable of viewing the world of late.  I nod, only because I know he will not leave until I do so and after a pause, he heaves another great sigh and drops his hands.

“Ah, Dis… The world is a lesser place without you too though, my dear.”

The world.  What care I for the world outside?  We should have done better were He never to have been born at all; both the world and I might have been spared this agony.  

“I…I hope you will not be so hard on them for very much longer,” he says softly despite the obvious reprimand, “It is easier, I’m sure, to blame the living than the dead.  And there is tragedy, of course, but there is honour too!  Dis please…do not look for blame where there is none to be had.”

I close my eyes against my swelling emotions, will them away that I might tell him what I think to his talk of ‘honour’ and ‘tragedy’ when he has lost no one, he _mourns_ for no one but when I open them again he is gone and I am alone once more.  I glance around the room, with its carefully carved features and fine wooden bedstead and the mangled, bloodied form within, its skin beginning to green and slip as He starts His slow return back into earth.  I catch my breath, horrified and when I look again the bed is empty, blankets untouched and barely a speck of red to hint at its last occupant’s fate.  Unable to look any longer, I curl myself tighter in His chair, lower my head to my knees once more and cry.

 

* * *

 

The bed dips behind me as my visitor sits, the gentle click of the closing door my only warning of their arrival.  

“Come back.”

His breath warms the place between my shoulder blades, only serving to chill the rest of me and raise goose pimples across my skin.

“Dis,” a nose nudges at the base of my neck, “Come back to us.”

I shudder and the warmth recedes.  I hate it; his presence _sickens_ me and yet…I ache for its loss.  

“I am not gone away,” I say through lips so unused to this unnatural movement that they crack as I speak.  There is no reply and, after a moment, I turn, desperately seeking the face I did not think I could bear to see.  

“Yes,” he nods very slightly, wiping the warm, seeping liquid from my mouth with only the barest of touches, “You are.”

One of us – and I am almost afraid when I realise it is me – gives a gasping half-sob and I turn my face into his touch, holding his hand against me, fingers curled against my jaw.

“I cannot find my way back!”

He moves then, suddenly as though it is a signal for which he has waited, trying to take me in his arms.  I drop his hand as though burned, fall to my side upon the bed and try to forget his hand in mine, how I could taste my own blood upon the familiar fingers that had sought to console me.  I will not grant him that, not now – perhaps not ever.  For there is another’s blood on his hands and I will not allow that blood to be washed away by _my_ tears.

I sense him rounding the bed and I close my eyes against any further attempts at comfort but there is none.  Cool air chills the tear tracks upon my face as the door beside me is flung open.  He pauses on the threshold and I feel his eyes bore into me as he speaks

“If you will not let me try,” his voice is hard like rock, so far from the gentleness with which he began that it is almost comical, “Then I cannot help you.”

With that he is gone, the silence to which I have become so accustomed feels oppressive now – threatening even.   _Come back!_ I want to scream, _Come back, please!  Show me how!_  But my reply, when I give it seconds, minutes, hours later for who even knows how they pass now, is cold.  

“I do not want _your_ help.”

 

* * *

 

Sometimes I hear their voices outside my door - hushed whispers and half formed protests as their intrusions are prevented by men who are not Him.

One night I awake from this...this waking death to another presence in the room and His name on my lips only to find our eldest blinking back at me through the darkness.  Disappointment burns through my blood along with a vicious resentment that sees me turn my back on him - I will not, cannot send him away but his presence is but a reminder of His absence and I cannot bear it.

In the otherwise silent night, I hear voices calling for him, drawing ever nearer.

“Mama?”  A hand curls itself into my clothing as if he is afraid he will be dragged away this very second.

I do not speak but turn my head ever so slightly in his direction.

“Kili has been wondering…” he begins in a voice which suggests his brother is not alone in his wondering, “How long is ‘forever’?”

The wail that escapes me surely wakes half the town.  Behind me, the door is flung open and a moment of noise follows as the new intruder whisks the child away.  Though my heart breaks as his sobs echo down the hall I find I cannot summon control enough to cease my own tears let alone comfort his.  

My nights are undisturbed after that and I do not know if it is through his choice or theirs that a week passes without my catching sight nor sound of him.  Eventually, he comes though it seems he is reluctant to do so.  After this, they often bring one without the other and were I capable of such articulation I would ask them ‘why?’  But I am not, and the observation passes almost before I can comprehend it.   More often than not, it is the younger who is delivered to my room and I wonder if there is some reason for it.  I hold him on my knee, stroke his silken hair and try not to show my disappointment that the hair beneath my fingers is near black rather than red.  He speaks, and though I do not try to discern the words from the babble, I nod and hum in response when he eventually stops to draw breath.  He grows bored of his own chatter and whines to be set down.  My arms feel empty without him and I think that if he would only sit still and quiet then I would have him here all the time.  

Once - just once - I hear laughter and a child’s giggling squeal.  In my mind I watch as he is flung skyward and caught again, or else plucked from his hiding place and reduced to breathless cries of protest as fingers dance featherlike across his ribs.  I am halfway to my door before the moment is, for me, lost.  The name the child shrieks is wrong, the answering laughter too deep.  Thankfully, I am not subjected to this torture for long as the play is ended as suddenly as it began.

 

* * *

 

I barely blink as a cup flies past my face to clang against the stone behind me.  A second later and its fellows, along with several other oddities are swept to the floor with a great roar from their attacker.

“ENOUGH!”

I stare back impassively as he glares, great shoulders heaving.  His fury passes and after a moment he sighs, surveying the mess his outburst has caused.  I watch as he shakes his head and stoops to pick up the scattered things and set them to rights.  Finally, he makes to collect a box from where it lays in one corner of the room.  It was not his violence that had cast it there but my own.

“Don’t.”

He pauses, his fingers barely brushing it.  Then, as if I had not spoken, he takes it in his hands almost reverently.  Setting it aside, his fingers hover over one corner where I can see a vicious gash in the otherwise perfectly carved wood.

“Enough.” He repeats through gritted teeth.  The source of his renewed outrage is clear even through my detachment.  This box,though I am its keeper, is sacred to us.  It was not mine to have damaged so even in the darkest of my days.

“What would you have had us do?”  He asks eventually, his gaze downcast.  “He would not be stopped - you know that.”

Yes, I know that.  I almost say it aloud.  He would not have been felled by any less a wound than He received.  He would not have stopped until every foul thing that threatened us in word, deed or intent was dealt with.  And neither the will of  His king nor the protestations of His wife, friends, or children could have stopped Him.  There had been no _‘if’_ only _‘when’_ but Mahal I had prayed our days together would last so much longer  - _forever!_

“Nothing.  There was nothing to be done.”  I admit eventually, the cloud seeming to lift ever so slightly.  There follows a pause, then:

“And now?  What would you have us do now?  How much longer are we to suffer?”

“I don’t know.”

There our drawn out, half-exhausted conversation ends and I feel sleep once more pulling at my eyelids.  In silence, and without a glance at me, he settles himself on the floor against one wall.  I am momentarily seized by the urge to wrap myself around one of his trunk-like arms and sleep plastered to him as I used to do as a child - whilst our older brothers discussed matters that we (or rather, I) were too young to be troubled with.  With his silent presence as my lullaby and though I know he will be gone back to his duty and his king when I awake, sleep claims me once more.

 

* * *

 

“ _Marry me_.”

The words wake me from my dream, my heart in my throat as I close my eyes once more and try to return to the sweet smelling woods and rowdy, drunken celebrations of that night.  I remember his eyes, dark and strong, and how even from him, no words had ever sounded sweeter.  

And when I open my eyes, unable to summon even a sense of how I felt that night, I lay my body back down upon the bed.  The hour is late, the darkness so complete I might not have opened my eyes and the silence is stifling, pressing down on me until I can bear it no longer.  I turn to His side.  Bury my face in His pillow.  Clutch blankets that still smell of Him to my chest and try to recall how it felt to mould our forms together as one.  And, when finally I feel my head throb, see stars erupting across my vision, feel my chest aching and my throat burn from the inarticulation of my grief, I stop.  The world is still black, the room stifling, but there is sound - like emerging from water, there is sound.  I lie breathless for a moment, and listen to the sporadic, explosive cries of others whose grief has gone too long ignored; grief which has been too long stifled by my pain, my fury, and my guilt.

I stand, cross the room upon shaking legs, and open the door.

 

* * *

 

 


End file.
